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THE: 
DESPOT 

OF- 

BROO/AS= 
E-PGE- 

cove 


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THE 


DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE 
COVE 


CHARLES  EGBERT  CRADDOCK  y,  - 

AUTHOR   OF    "IN   THE   CLOUDS,"    "DOWN   THE    RAVINE,"    "  IN    THE   TENNESSEE 

MOUNTAINS,"  "  THE  PROPHET  OF  THE  GREAT  SMOKY 

MOUNTAINS,"   ETC. 


BOSTON    AND    NEW    YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN   AND   COMPANY 
Camfcri&ge 


Copyright,  1888, 
BY  MARY  N.  MURFREE 

•     AUTcvjMe  nperued. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge: 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  0.  Houghton  &  Co. 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE. 


Ox  a  certain  steep  and  savage  slope  of  the  Great  Smoky 
Mountains,  the  primeval  wilderness  for  many  miles  is  un 
broken  save  by  one  meagre  clearing.  The  presence  of  hu 
manity  upon  the  earth  is  further  attested  only  by  a  log  cabin, 
high  on  the  rugged  slant.  At  night  the  stars  seem  hardly 
more  aloof  than  the  valley  below.  By  day  the  mountains 
assert  their  solemn  vicinage,  an  au.  .are  company.  The 
clouds  that  silently  commune  with  the  great  peaks,  the  sin 
ister  and  scathing  deeds  of  the  lightnings,  the  passionate 
rhetoric  of  the  thunders,  the  triumphal  pageantry  of  the  sun 
set-tides,  and  the  wistful  yearnings  of  the  dawn  aspiring  to 
the  day,  — these  might  seem  the  only  incidents  of  this  lonely 
and  exalted  life.  So  august  is  this  mountain  scheme  that 
it  fills  all  the  visible  world  with  its  massive  multitudinous 
presence ;  still  stretching  out  into  the  dim  blue  distances  an 
infinite  perspective  of  peak  and  range  and  lateral  spur,  till 
one  may  hardly  believe  that  the  fancy  does  not  juggle  with 
the  fact. 

One  day  a  sound  impinged  suddenly  upon  its  impressive 
silence,  —  faint  and  far,  but  even  in  the  echo  charged  with 
alien  suggestions  ;  not  akin  to  the  woods  or  the  waters,  to 
the  cry  of  beast  or  of  bird  ;  subtly  at  variance  with  the 
mountain  solitude,  imposed  upon  it,  neither  of  its  essence 
nor  its  outgrowth.  A  soul  informed  the  sound,  for  it  was 
the  voice  of  a  man  singing  aloud  in  the  wilderness,  — 

Ml 2024 


2  Tff#'.t>ESI:pT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

ing  with  so  ecstatic  a  fervor,  with  tones  so  robust  and  full, 
that  distant  peaks  were  voiced  with  fugue-like  feignings, 
rising  to  sudden  outbursts  and  sinking  to  silence,  as  the 
melody  waxed  or  waned.  It  swung  and  swayed  in  rhyth 
mic  cadences  across  the  valley.  It  might  have  seemed  a 
spirit  in  the  air,  for  with  the  hymning  echoes  it  was  hard  to 
say  whence  it  came.  But  two  mountaineers,  standing  beside 
the  fence  of  the  little  cornfield  in  the  clearing,  gazed  ex 
pectantly  up  the  road,  that,  precarious  and  rocky,  ran  along 
the  verge  of  the  slope.  For  the  song  grew  louder  and  more 
distinct,  and  presently  in  its  midst  was  heard  the  beat  of 
rapid  hoofs.  A  moment  more,  and  the  young  psalmist  came 
around  a  curve,  galloping  recklessly  clown  beneath  the 
fringed  boughs  of  the  firs  and  the  pines,  still  singing  aloud  ; 
the  reins  upon  his  horse's  neck,  his  rifle  held  across  the 
pommel  of  the  saddle,  his  broad  hat  thrust  upon  the  back 
of  his  head,  his  eyes  scarcely  turning  toward  the  men  that 
stood  by  the  wayside. 

He  had  evidently  not  intended  to  stop,  but  one  of  them 
threw  up  his  arm  and  hailed  him. 

"Hy're,  Teck!  holdup!" 

The  rider  drew  rein.  The  rapt  expression  of  his  coun 
tenance  abruptly  changed.  He  fixed  imperative,  worldly 
eyes  upon  the  speaker.  They  were  deeply  set,  of  a  dark 
blue  color,  full  of  a  play  of  expression,  and  despite  the  mun 
dane  intimations  of  the  moment  they  held  the  only  sugges 
tions  in  his  face  of  a  spiritual  possibility.  He  had  a  heavy 
lower  jaw,  stern  and  insistent.  A  firm,  immobile  mouth 
disclosed  strong,  even  teeth.  His  nose  was  slightly  aquiline, 
and  he  had  definitely  marked  black  eyebrows.  His  short 
dark  beard,  worn  after  the  manner  common  in  the  region, 
and  the  usual  brown  jeans  garb,  lent  his  face  no  similarity 
to  the  faces  of  the  others.  There  was  a  strong  individuality, 
magnetism,  about  him,  and  before  his  glance  the  peremp 
tory  spirit  of  his  interlocutor  was  slightly  abated.  It  was 
only  after  he  had  demanded,  "  What  ye  want  ?  "  that  he 
was  asked  in  turn,  — 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.     3 

"  Whar  ye  been  ?  " 

"  Been  a-huntin',''  said  Teck  Jepson.  He  laid  one  hand 
upon  the  barrel  of  his  rifle  on  the  pommel  of  his  saddle,  as 
if  to  call  attention  to  it. 

"  Did  n't  ye  get  nuthin'  ?  " 

"  Naw.  I  tuk  ter  studyin'  'bout'n  the  Bible,  an'  a-sing- 
in',  an'  I  warn't  a-goin'  ter  thwart  the  sperit.  I  ain't  tuk 
aim  this  day." 

There  was  so  obvious  a  pride  in  this  statement  that  it  im 
posed  upon  the  others  as  a  valid  source  of  satisfaction. 

They  all  looked  meditatively  at  the  spaces  of  the  sunlit 
valley  for  a  moment.  The  shadow  of  a  great  wing  flickered 
by.  A  cow-bell  jangled  from  the  slope  below. 

"  Waal,  I  expec'  Ben  hyar  mought  hev  his  say-so  'bout'n 
studyin'  on  the  Bible,  jes'  in  the  time  fur  pullin'  fodder," 
suggested  Eli  Strobe. 

He  was  the  constable  of  the  district,  a  heavy,  thick-set 
fellow,  forty  years  of  age,  perhaps,  and  of  medium  height. 
He  had  a  large  head  and  a  certain  lowering  side  glance, 
barely  lifting  the  lids  of  his  slow  dark  eyes  with  a  sullen, 
bovine  expression.  He  carried  himself  in  a  deliberate  pon 
dering  manner,  and  with  distinct  aggressiveness.  He  wore 
his  broad  black  wool  hat  pulled  far  over  his  brow.  His  boots 
were  drawn  to  the  knee  over  his  blue  jeans  trousers,  and 
were  graced  with  large  spurs.  His  features  were  straight 
and  regular,  handsome  in  their  way,  and  his  face  was  char 
acterized  by  a  sort  of  surly  dignity.  He  stood  sturdily  in 
the  road,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and  looked  up  from 
under  the  brim  of  his  hat  at  the  horseman. 

Jepson  lifted  his  head  loftily.  <•  I  'd  ruther  be  in  the 
wilderness  with  the  sperit  than  with  the  gleaners  in  the  rich 
est  fields  o'  the  y earth  !  " 

Despite  a  sanctimonious  twang  imitated  from  the  circuit 
rider,  his  voice  in  speaking  betokened  his  gift  in  song.  It 
was  rich  and  low,  and  as  smooth  as  velvet. 

The  constable,  at  a  spiritual  disadvantage,  recanted  with 


4     THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOM  SEDGE  COVE. 

acerbity.  "I  reckon  so!  Ennybody  else  would,  too. 
Ye  talk  ez  ef  nobody  bed  n't  no  religion  but  yerse'f." 

*'  Laws-a-massy  !  "  exclaimed  Jepson 's  half-brother,  Ben 
Bowles.  "  Laws-a-rnassy  !  wbenst  Teck  gits  ter  studyin' 
'bout  the  Bible-folks,  I  'd  jes'  ez  lief  he  'd  wander  ez  work. 
He  talks  ter  me  till  them  tales  bender  me  mighty  nigh  ez 
much  ez  him.  No  fodder  sca'cely  would  hev  been  pulled 
hyar  ter-day  ef  he  bed  stayed." 

The  mention  of  his  work  reminded  him  of  it  anew.  As 
he  stood  in  the  turn-row,  he  began  to  tear  from  the  stalwart 
stalks  of  the  Indian  corn,  tasseled  far  higher  than  his  head, 
the  long  blue-green  and  glossy  blades,  rustling  at  a  touch 
and  shining  in  the  sun.  He  was  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  a 
gaunt,  shambling  fellow,  with  yellow  beard  and  hair,  and 
long,  tobacco-stained  teeth  ;  he  had  a  docile,  acquiescent 
face  and  a  temporizing  blue  eye.  Few  men  could  contrive 
to  agree  with  both  Jepson  and  Strobe,  but  to  Ben  Bowles 
no  miracle  of  trimming  was  impossible.  The  corn  was  fine  ; 
the  heavy  ears,  swathed  in  their  crisp  husks  and  crested 
with  sun-embrowned  silk,  hung  far  from  the  stalks,  about 
which  trumpet  vines  twined,  the  blossoms  flaunting  scarlet. 
There  even  peered  out  now  and  then  the  tender  blue  eyes 
of  morning-glories,  still  open,  abloom  in  the  dank  shadow. 
The  more  prosaic  growth  of  pumpkins  was  about  the  roots, 
and  sometimes  Bowles  caught  his  awkward  feet  in  the  vines, 
and  added  a  stumble  to  his  shamble. 

"  The  sperit  hev  been  with  me  strong,  —  mighty  strong, 
ter-day,"  said  Teck  Jepson  suddenly.  "  I  hev  been  studyin' 
on  Moses,  from  the  time  he  lef  the  saidges  by  the  ruver 
bank,"  he  added,  bridling  with  a  sentiment  that  was  strik 
ingly  like  the  pride  of  earth.  Then,  as  he  gazed  down  at 
the  landscape,  his  face  softened  and  grew  pensive. 

The  great  ranges  were  slowly  empurpled  against  the  pale 
eastern  horizon,  delicately  blue,  for  the  sun  was  in  the 
western  skies.  How  splendidly  saffron  those  vast  spaces 
glowed  !  What  purity  and  richness  of  tint !  Here  and 


TttE  DESPOT  OF  BROO^ffEDGE   COVE.  5 

there  were  pearly  wing-like  sweeps  of  an  incomparable  glis 
ter  ;  and  the  clouds,  ambitious,  must  needs  climb  the  zenith, 
with  piled  and  stately  mountainous  effects,  gleaming  white, 
opaque  and  dazzling.  The  focal  fires  of  the  great  orb  were 
unquenched,  and  still  the  yellow  divergent  rays  streamed 
forth  ;  yet  in  its  heart  was  suggested  that  vermilion  smoul 
dering  of  the  sunset,  and  the  western  hills  were  waiting. 

"  'T  war  tur'ble  hard  on  Moses,"  said  Teck  Jepson 
dreamily,  '-when  the  Lord  shut  him  out'n  Canaan,  arter 
travelin'  through  the  wilderness.  Tur'ble,  tur'ble  hard  I  " 

There  was  naught  in  the  scene  to  suggest  to  a  mind  famil 
iar  with  the  facts  an  Oriental  landscape,  —  naught  akin  to 
the  hills  of  Judaea.  It  was  essentially  of  the  New  World, 
essentially  of  the  Great  Smoky  Mountains.  Yet  ignorance 
has  its  license.  It  never  occurred  toJTeck  Jepson  that  his 
Biblical  heroes  had  lived  elsewhere.  Their  history  had  to 
him  an  intimate  personal  relation,  as  of  the  story  of  an 
ancestor  in  the  homestead  ways  and  closely  familiar.  He 
brooded  upon  these  narrations,  instinct  with  dramatic  move 
ment,  enriched  with  poetic  color,  and  localized  in  his  robust 
imagination,  till  he  could  trace  Hagar's  wild  wanderings  in 
the  fastnesses  ;  could  show  where  Jacob  slept  and  piled  his 
altar  of  stones  ;  could  distinguish  the  bush,  of  all  others  on 
the  "  bald,"  that  blazed  with  fire  from  heaven,  when  the 
angel  of  the  Lord  stood  within  it.  Somehow,  even  in  their 
grotesque  variation,  they  lost  no  dignity  in  their  transmis 
sion  to  the  modern  conditions  of  his  fancy.  Did  the  facts 
lack  significance  because  it  was  along  the  gullied  red  clay 
roads  of  Piomingo  Cove  that  he  saw  David,  the  smiling 
stripling,  running  and  holding  high  in  his  hand  the  bit  of 
cloth  cut  from  Saul's  garments,  while  the  king  had  slept  in 
a  cave  at  the  base  of  Chilhowee  Mountain  ?  And  how  was 
the  splendid  miracle  of  translation  discredited  because  Jep 
son  believed  that  the  chariot  of  the  Lord  had  rested  in  scar 
let  and  purple  clouds  upon  the  towering  summit  of  Thun- 
derhead,  that  Elijah  might  thence  ascend  into  heaven  ? 


6  THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE 

He  mistook  the  dramatic  instinct,  that  entranced  him 
with  these  splendid  epics,  for  religion.  He  sang  loud  and 
long  in  the  meetings,  with  a  rich  voice  and  a  fervid  indorse 
ment  of  the  sentiment  of  the  rude  hymns,  but  he  told  few 
experiences ;  his  soul  seemed  untroubled,  unstirred ;  he 
neither  shouted  nor  exhorted  others,  and  in  the  midst  of 
exhortation  he  often  dropped  asleep.  But  if  the  text  were 
from  the  Old  Testament,  rich  in  narrative,  his  fine  head 
was  alert,  his  eyes  grew  eager  and  intent ;  he  would  lean 
forward,  to  lose  no  word,  his  hand  on  the  back  of  the  bench 
in  front  of  him,  and  often  his  strong  hand  trembled.  He 
was  an  earnest  advocate  of  education.  "  Let  the  Bible  be 
read  !  "  he  would  exclaim  in  a  thunderous,  coercive  voice, 
strong  with  the  sincerity  of  his  own  wish  to  read.  For  he 
^was  sometimes  aware  that  he  carried  with  him  broken  im 
pressions  of  the  stories  that  emblazoned  his  mind.  Then 
his  quick  supplementing  fancy  would  unconsciously  assert 
itself  anew,  the  rift  would  close,  and  the  continuity  would 
stretch  forth  perfected. 

His  was  the  mind  receptive,  romantic.  The  endowment 
to  believe  the  essential  verity,  undemonstrable  though  it  be, 
to  see  that  which  is  not  before  the  material  eye,  to  feel  the 
abstract  sentiment,  he  shared  with  those  for  whom  tradition 
has  woven  its  fine,  embellished  webs,  and  history  has  penned 
its  heroic  page,  and  poets  have  sung  and  have  soared.  The 
gift  was  in  the  nature  of  a  sarcasm,  bestowed  here.  He 
had  not  even  the  cradle  lore  of  other  men.  Niggard  circum 
stance  had  environed  him  with  all  the  limitations  of  igno 
rance.  In  these  close  bounds,  the  readings  of  the  circuit 
rider  gave  him  the  only  collations  of  connected  fact,  the 
only  narrative,  the  only  glimpse  of  a  status  of  people  more 
amply  endowed  than  those  about  him  ;  and  the  dramatic 
instinct  vivified  the  meagre  details,  caused  them  to  glow 
before  him,  and  they  served  for  him  as  the  libraries  of  the 
world  serve  for  other  men. 

Encompassed  by  the  democratic  sovereignty  that  hedges 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.     7 

about  an  American  voter  ;  knowing  no  rank,  no  gradations 
of  caste,  other  than  that  of  the  sheriff,  the  constable,  the 
justice  of  the  peace,  —  and  latterly  the  high  estate  of  a  cir 
cuit  judge  had  been  brought  to  his  knowledge,  —  it  was  cu 
rious  how  he  caught  from  the  spirit  of  the  text  the  sentiment 
of  awe  and  reverence  for  the  exalted  in  the  earth,  prophets 
and  high-priests,  kings  and  great  captains.  He  exulted  in 
the  Scriptural  pageantry.  His  fancy  would  marshal  again 
and  again  the  fine  show  of  the  serried  ranks  of  opposing 
armies  along  the  mountain  side,  when  David  went  out  in 
the  valley  to  fight  Goliath.  The  triumph  would  hardly 
have  been  what  it  was  to  him  without  those  multiplied  mar 
tial  spectators,  —  nor,  it  is  safe  to  say,  to  David  either. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  he  reiterated.  "  'T  war  tur'ble  hard  on 
Moses.  I  jes'  know  how  he  felt.  Thar  ain't  nuthin'  in  this 
worl'  so  tormentin'  ter  the  sperit  ez  ter  be  in  a  place  ye  de 
spise,  an'  hanker  an'  hone  ter  git  ter  another.  Whenst  I 
war  a  witness  in  the  court  yander  at  Glaston  agin  Jake 
Baintree  ez  killed  Sam'l  Keale,  I  fairly  pined  so  fur  the 
mountings  my  chist  felt  tight,  like  I  could  n't  breathe,  an' 
my  eyeballs  plumb  started  out'n  my  head.  An'  when  they 
'lowed  thar  'd  hev  ter  be  a  new  trial,  an'  I  'd  hev  ter  kem 
back  las'  March  agin,  I  war  so  outdone  an'  aggervated  by 
the  foolin'  'round  o'  them  lawyers,  ez  tuk  an'  sp'iled  the  case 
they  hed  been  at  sech  trouble  ter  fix  jes1  so,  that  I  jes'  up-ed 
an'  'lowed  afore  the  jedge  ez  I  hoped  I  'd  be  dead  afore 
that  time." 

"  The  folks  laffed  at  ye,  too,"  said  the  constable. 

"  Let  'em  laff,  —  laffin'  's  cheap,"  retorted  Jepson.  He 
was  one  of  those  happily  constituted  mortals  who  respect 
their  own  mental  attitude  far  more  than  its  effect  on  others. 

"  Waal,  they  'low  ez  Baintree  air  a-layin'  fur  ye  'bout'n 
that  thar  testimony  ye  gin  agin  him,"  observed  Strobe. 

Jepson  received  this  suggestion  in  the  silence  of  con 
tempt. 

"  I  never  looked  ter  see  Baintree  let  off  from  that  court," 
said  Bowles. 


8     THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

"  Yes,"  assented  Jepson  cheerfully.  "  The  law  'peared 
ter  hev  a  weak  streak  in  it  somehows,  an'  the  lawyers  said 
they  could  n't  prove  it  on  him.  An'  I  'lowed  ter  the  State's 
lawyer  ez  they  hed  better  prove  it  then  with  a  sentence  from 
Jedge  Lynch." 

The  constable,  mindful  of  his  position  as  an  officer  of  the 
law,  cast  a  sudden  glance  upon  him  of  threatening  surprise. 

"  What  did  the  'torney  gineral  say  ter  that  ?  "  he  de 
manded  pertinently. 

"  He  say  ef  he  hed  sech  a  tongue  ez  mine  he  'd  tie  it  ter 
his  palate,  ter  keep  it  still,"  responded  Jepson  easily.  "  But 
I  told  him  thar  warn't  no  danger,  fur  ef  ennybody  fell  out 
with  the  sayin's  o'  my  tongue,  the  doin's  o'  my  fist  war 
mighty  apt  ter  make  'em  fall  in  agin.  Yes,  sir,"  he  pro 
ceeded  after  a  pause,  "  I  appealed  ter  Jedge  Lynch."  His 
form  of  expression  was  reminiscent  of  his  recent  experi 
ences  in  the  courts.  "  I  never  got  nothin'  by  it,  though. 
Folks  is  gittin'  so  white-livered  they  be  afeard  o'  thar  shad- 
ders." 

"  Waal,  now,"  spoke  up  the  constable,  moving  back  a 
pace,  and  feeling  at  a  disadvantage  in  being  constrained  to 
look  upward  at  the  horseman,  "  when  the  courts  hev  let  a 
man  go,  an'  can't  prove  nuthin'  on  him,  I  say  't  won't  do 
fur  folks  ter  set  out  an'  mebbe  hang  a  man  by  mistake." 

"  Whar  's  Saml  Keale  ?  "  Jepson  asked  the  question, 
and  then  looked  casually  across  the  road  and  the  stream  at 
the  great  vermilion  sun  going  down  behind  the  long  summit 
line,  far,  far  away,  of  Walden's  Ridge,  —  how  finely  out 
lined,  how  delicate  in  hue,  against  the  flushed  horizon.  The 
mountains  close  around  loomed  sombre,  purple,  silent,  and 
mysterious,  sharers  in  none  of  these  ethereal  graces  of  color. 
On  the  rocky  banks  of  the  stream,  here  and  there,  felled 
trees  were  lying ;  one  protruded  far  into  the  water,  and  was 
green  with  moss  and  dank  with  ooze.  It  stirred  suddenly, 
for  some  water  animal  had  sprung  upon  it,  then  splashed 
again  into  the  current,  as  Bowles's  old  dog  rushed  out  of 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOM  SEDGE   COVE.  9 

the  cornfield  with  a  shrill,  sharp  bark  of  discovery.  His 
master's  eyes  followed  him  absently,  while  with  a  quivering 
tail  and  alert  ears  he  patrolled  the  banks  hither  and  thither, 
now  and  again  uttering  his  sharp  cry,  varied  with  wheezes 
of  disappointment. 

"  Whar's  —  Sam' I  —  Keale?"  Jepson  demanded  again, 
significantly,  and  once  more  waited  for  an  answer.  Neither 
of  the  other  men  spoke.  The  wind  stirred ;  an  acorn  dropped 
with  a  sharp  thud  from  a  chestnut  oak  ;  a  locust  was  shrill 
ing  from  a  pawpaw  tree.  ''  Ef  ye  '11  tell  me  ennywhar 
Sam'l  Keale  km  be,  I  '11  gin  it  up.  Now  jes'  look-a-hyar," 
he  argued.  "  Them  two  fellers  —  nobody  knowed  then 
what  they  war  arter,  but  it  kem  out  on  the  trial  —  got  it 
inter  thar  heads  ez  thar  war  some  silver  mines  in  the  mount 
ings.  An'  they  sets  out  ter  find  one."  His  lip  curled.  "  So 
day  arter  day  they  leaves  thar  plows  in  the  furrow,  an' 
goes  a-sarchin'  fur  the  silver  mine.  An'  one  day  nare  one 
o'  'em  kerns  back.  A  plumb  week  goes  by.  An'  then  hyar 
kerns  Baintree  nigh  starved  with  a-wanderin'  in  the  woods, 
an'  with  a  big  tale  'bout  Sam'l  hevin'  fell  down  a  hole  ez 
'peared  ter  be  the  mouth  o'  a  cave,  an'  he  could  n't  hear 
nuthin'  from  him,  though  Baintree  hollered  an'  hollered. 
An'  he  war  afeard  the  law  'd  take  artar  him,  kase  they 
war  a-scufflin*  whenst  Sam'l  slipped  an'  fell.  Waal,  the 
folks  tuk  arter  him  fur  not  hevm'  kem  straight  ter  tell,  — 
lef  the  critter  thar  in  the  cave  ter  starve  or  drown.  None 
o'  that  fooled  me  !  " 

He  broke  off  abruptly. 

Ben  Bowles  pulled  his  hay-colored  beard  with  meditative 
fingers.  "  Ye  b'lieve  Sam'l  war  dead  fust,  an'  then  war 
flung  down  inter  the  cave." 

Jepson  knit  his  brows  fiercely.     "  Percisely." 

"  Ye  'low,  ef  he  warn't,  Baintree  would  hev  been  power 
ful  quick  ter  skeet  out'n  them  woods  an'  git  somebody  ter 
holp  him  git  Sanvl  out,  'thout  waitin'  a  week  1 " 

"  Jes'  so  !  " 


10          THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE. 

The  constable  put  in  suddenly ;  his  loyalty  to  the  law 
was  enlisted,  and  he  felt  it  his  bounden  duty  to  support  its 
decisions  with  the  weight  of  his  personal  opinion. 

"  Baintree  'lowed  Sam  war  dead,  or  lied  sunk  spang 
through  the  yearth,  kase  he  would  n't  answer.  The  boy 
war  afeard  ter  tell.  He  would  n't  even  tell  a-fust  ez  they 
war  a-scufflin'  an'  a-playin'.  An'  ez  the  jury  'lowed  he 
warn't  guilty,  I  feel  ez  ef  he  ought  ter  be  let  ter  go." 

"  Whar  's  —  Sam'l  —  Keale  ?  "  demanded  Jepson  once 
more. 

Neither  answered.  The  shrilling  of  the  locust  persisted 
sharply.  Only  the  rim  of  the  sun  showed  above  the  dis 
tant  blue  mountain  ;  the  soft  suffusions  of  light  upon  the 
great  valley  were  reddening,  and  a  sense  of  impending 
shadows,  not  yet  falling,  was  upon  the  air.  Night  was 
pluming  her  wings,  to  spread  them  erelong.  A  point  of 
light  suddenly  scintillated  in  the  dark  flow  of  the  mountain 
stream,  for  the  poetic  evening  star  —  how  serene  !  —  was 
in  the  sky.  What  prophetic  melancholy  had  pierced  the 
group  of  pines  hard  by  ?  Their  fringes  were  astir,  and  a 
monody,  all  tenderly  subdued  and  subtly  mournful,  was  on 
the  air. 

"  Baintree  kem  down  yander  ter  the  blacksmith  shop  las' 
Wednesday,"  Jepson  resumed  abruptly.  "  I  war  thar  ter 
hev  this  hyar  horse-critter's  nigh  fore-foot  shod ;  "  he  leaned 
over,  glancing  down  at  it,  then  came  suddenly  to  the  per 
pendicular.  "  He  kem  thar  ez  ef  he  expected  folks  ter 
'bide  by  the  verdic'  an'  be  sati'fied.  He  kem  in  the  door 
an'  walked  roun',  an'  then  he  sot  down  in  the  winder.  An' 
then  I  jes'  riz  up.  I  said  ter  him,  I  said  aloud,  '  Cain,  I 
see  Abel  with  ye.  I  view  him  thar.  Ye  need  n't  winge 
away.  He  hev  kem  ter  abide  alongside  o'  ye.  Ye  kin  hide 
him  in  no  caves.  He  air  yer  share  forever !  '  An'  then 
I  turned  back  ter  the  anvil,  whar  Clem  Sanders  war  a-for- 
gin'  of  the  horse-clioe.  An'  time  he  hed  bent  the  bar  I 
looked  over  my  lef"  shoulder,  an'  the  winder  war  empty." 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.    11 

A  long  pause  ensued.  "  Waal,  sir,"  Strobe  presently 
remarked,  "folks  'low  he  hev  got  religion  now,  an'  air  goin' 
ter  be  baptized." 

Teck  turned  a  face  of  amazed  anger  upon  him. 

"  He  sha'n't !  "  he  cried,  as  arrogantly  as  if  he  guarded 
the  gates  of  heaven.  "  He  shell  not  save  his  soul !  He 
shell  not  reach  the  golden  shore,  whilst  the  man  he  buried 
in  the  depths  o'  the  yearth,  'thout  nare  minit's  grace  ter 
think  on  salvation,  air  a-welterin'  in  brimstun,  an'  a-burnin' 
in  hell.  He  shell  not  save  his  soul !  " 

His  breath  was  short,  his  cheek  flushed,  his  eye  intent 
and  fiery.  All  at  once  his  whole  aspect  changed. 

"  Hy're,  A'minty !  "  he  cried  out,  his  flexible  voice  ris 
ing  to  a  cheery  key.  "  I  see  ye  ;  no  use  a-hidin'.  Supper 
ready  ?  " 

For  there,  sidling  along  among  the  weeds  in  the  fence 
corners,  was  a  small  girl,  much  distraught  by  the  presence 
of  a  stranger,  and  holding  her  head  so  bent  down  that  little 
could  be  seen  of  her  face  for  the  curling  tangled  red  hair 
that  fell  over  it.  She  wore  a  blue  checked  homespun  frock, 
and  she  carried  in  her  arms,  feet  upward,  a  large,  ungainly 
yellow  cat,  with  unattractive  green  eyes,  which  rolled  about 
while  its  head  hung  down. 

"  They  blows  the  horn  at  the  house  fur  we-uns,"  Jepson 
continued,  "  but  A'minty  keeps  one  eye  on  the  pot,  an'  kerns 
arter  me  jes'  a  leetle  aforehand  every  day.  She  knows  I 
be  afeard  ter  go  ter  the  house  by  myself.  Suthin'  mought 
ketch  me  on  the  road  —  varmints,  or  dogs,  or  sech." 

He  winked  jovially  at  the  two  men,  but  A'minty  stood 
unsmiling  by  the  fence. 

Suddenly  the  resonance  of  a  horn  was  on  the  air.  with  a 
trailing  refrain  of  echoes.  So  far  they  rang,  so  faint,  so 
fine,  they  hardly  seemed  akin  to  the  homely  blast  wound 
close  at  hand.  The  moon,  rising  now,  —  a  lucent  yellow 
sphere  in  the  pink  haze  of  the  skies,  far  above  the  purple 
earth,  —  might  naturalize  such  sounds.  Thus  rings  the 


12          THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE. 

horn  of  Diana,  perhaps,  amidst  the  lunar  mountains.  And 
when  the  vibrations  died  away  the  ear  strained  to  hear  them 
again  ;  so  elfin  was  the  final  tone  that  the  succeeding  inter 
val  was  less  like  silence  than  a  sound  which  the  sense  was 
not  fine  enough  to  discern. 

<l  Wanter  ride,  A'minty  ?  "  Teck  demanded  of  his  small 
niece. 

Her  shyness  vanished  instantly.  She  showed  a  rounded 
freckled  face  and  shining  eyes,  and  an  assemblage  of  jag 
ged  gleeful  teeth,  as  she  ran,  with  the  deft  noiselessness  of 
the  barefooted  gentry,  almost  under  his  horse's  heels  and 
caught  the  stirrup.  He  reached  down  gravely  for  the  cat, 
holding  it  by  the  middle,  with  its  four  stiff  paws  out 
stretched,  and  A'minty  clutched  his  great  spurred  boot,  and 
climbed  up  his  long  leg  like  a  squirrel.  He  rode  off,  the 
rifle  stayed  upon  the  pommel  of  the  saddle  by  the  hand  that 
held  too  the  reins,  while  the  little  girl,  nestling  in  his  arms, 
looked  back  at  the  two  men  by  the  side  of  the  fence,  and 
the  cat,  which  she  clasped,  turned  its  supple  neck  and  gazed 
back,  too,  from  its  perch  above  the  horseman's  shoulder. 

The  two  men  followed  them  with  a  languid  gaze  for  a 
moment ;  then  Strobe  was  moved  to  seat  himself  slowly  and 
circumspectly  on  a  bowlder  near  the  roadside.  As  he  leaned 
his  shoulder  against  the  pawpaw  tree  close  by,  the  locust 
shrilling  high  up  among  its  branches  suddenly  ceased  its 
iteration. 

"  Teck  air  too  durned  smart,"  he  said,  his  own  individuality 
reasserting  itself  since  freed  from  the  dominant  presence  of 
the  other,  —  "  too  durned  smart.  Set  an'  talk  afore  a  off'cer 
o'  the  law  'bout  lynchin'  a  man,  an'  gin  his  opinion  agin  a 
jury's  verdic'  an'  a  jedge's  say-so.  He  hev  got  the  big  head 
powerf ul  bad.  Axin',  '  Whar  's  Sam'l  Keale  ?  Whar  's  — 
Sam1 1  —  Keale  ? '  ez  ef  enny  cit'zen  hev  got  enny  right  ter 
know  or  say,  when  the  law  's  done  its  sheer." 

"  I  reckon  Jake  Baintree  mus'  be  innercent,"  observed 
Bowles,  with  the  mild  eye  and  voice  of  the  temporizer. 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.    13 

"  He  war  twenty  when  it  happened,  an'  he  be  twenty-five 
now  —  a  year  older  'n  Teck.  It  tuk  all  that  time  ter  jail 
an'  try  him." 

"  Waal,  the  law  is  slow,  —  the  law  is  slow."  The  im 
portant  constable  deported  himself  with  a  sort  of  clumsy 
pride  in  the  lingering  exploits  of  the  law. 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  'minds  me  of  a  slow  mule-race  all  the  time, 
the  law  does,"  said  Bowles. 

Strobe  looked  at  him,  surlily  suspicious  of  a  satiric  intent, 
but  the  mild  Bowles  had  evidently  spoken  in  all  good  faith. 

**  Sech  talk  ez  Teck's  air  the  reason  they  hed  ter  hev  a 
change  o'  venue,"  said  Strobe,  presently.  "  Stiddier  tryin' 
Baintree  in  Colb'ry,  his  county  town,  they  hed  ter  take 
him  ter  Glaston,  'kase  folks  in  this  county  war  all  so  set 
agin  him  the  court  'lowed  he  couldn't  git  a  fair  trial  hyar." 

"  I  reckon  his  folks  hev  been  powerful  put  ter  it  ter  live 
along  all  this  time,"  remarked  Bowles. 

"•  I  know  they  never  planted  none  the  fust  year,"  rejoined 
Strobe. 

"  Waal,  at  fust  they  'lowed  it  would  be  soon  over,  an* 
they  jes'  stirred  thar  stumps  ter  do  everything  fur  the  trial, 
an'  they  thunk  o'  nuthin'  else.  Then  nex'  year  they  hed 
ter  pay  suthin'  ter  them  lawyers,  whether  they  sp'ilt  thar 
case  or  no." 

"  Jake  war  a-tellin'  me  the  t'  other  day,"  said  Strobe, 
"  how  thankful  he  war  ter  some  o'  thar  neighbors,  ez  hed 
holped  'em  along  in  thar  troubles.  Ye  know  he  air  so 
meek-spoken,  an'  perlite,  an'  sech  now ;  an'  he  jes'  makes 
hisse'f  ez  small  ez  he  sets  by  the  fire,  an'  he  grins  afore  ye 
kin  speak  ter  him,  an'  —  I  dunno."  He  relinquished  sud 
denly  the  descriptive  effort.  "  An'  I  jes'  spoke  up,  an'  I 
say,  « I  'd  be  obleeged  ter  ye,  Jake,  now  that  the  law  hev 
let  ye  off,  ef  ye  would  n't  look  so  durned  guilty." 

"  What  'd  he  say  ?  "  demanded  Bowles. 

"  Waal,  the  critter  changed  suddint.  An'  he  say,  '  I 
know  folks  'low  I  be  guilty,  an'  it  makes  me  look  guilty  till 
I  plumb  feel  guilty.'  " 


14          THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOM  SEDGE   COVE. 

The  constable's  portly  form  had  a  burly  shadow  behind 
it,  as  he  rose  from  his  seat  on  the  rock,  for  the  moon  was 
well  up  now,  glistening  through  the  needles  of  the  pines, 
and  casting  a  broad  refulgent  sheen  upon  the  empty  road ; 
the  blades  of  Indian  corn  gleamed,  as  they  stirred  in  the 
breeze.  Bowles  had  unhooked  his  arms  from  the  fence  rail, 
and  the  two  men  took  their  way  together  to  the  little  cabin 
in  the  notch.  The  conformation  of  the  great  slopes  above 
it  was  such  as  to  show  a  neighboring  peak  standing  definite 
and  dark  against  the  evening  sky.  Adown  the  wooded 
steeps  the  shadows  gloomed.  The  ground  fell  away  from 
the  door  in  an  abrupt  descent,  and  through  the  uninclosed 
passage  between  the  two  rooms,  which  constituted  the  house, 
could  be  seen  a  far-reaching  defile  of  crags  and  sombre 
purple  ranges  in  the  elusive  blue  distances.  The  little  cabin, 
its  ridge-pole  in  a  slant  against  the  sky,  with  its  forlorn 
shanty  of  a  barn,  its  few  bee-gums  awry  along  the  rickety 
rail  fence,  its  scanty  scaffolds  of  tobacco  and  drying  fruit, 
seemed  all  the  more  meagre  for  the  splendid  affluence  of  the 
scene  spread  out  before  it  on  every  side.  "  I  kin  see  fifty 
mile  an'  furder  in  three  States,"  Bowles,  its  owner,  some- 
timer  boasted. 

"  I  'd  ruther  see  fewer  bushes  an'  mo'  cornfield,"  his  wife 
as  often  retorted. 

It  was  with  none  of  the  complacence  of  ownership  that 
she  contemplated  her  share  in  his  possessions.  She  often 
satirically  commented  upon  them,  with  a  singular  absence 
of  any  sense  of  responsibility  for  them.  Although  she 
maintained  absolute  sway  in  the  household,  she  deported 
herself  like  an  alien. 

The  interior  was  alight  with  a  dull  red  glow,  for  the  cook 
ing  of  supper  was  in  progress  ;  and  while  she  waited  for 
the  baking  of  the  johnny-cake  she  sat  upon  the  step  of  the 
rickety  little  porch  and  looked  about  her  with  an  idle,  cas 
ual  glance,  devoid  of  any  consanguinity  with  the  objects 
upon  which  it  rested.  She  was  some  twenty  years  of  age, 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.    15 

perhaps.  She  had  a  clear  olive  complexion,  and  dark  brown 
hair  smoothly  drawn  away  from  a  broad  low  forehead. 
Her  eyes  were  small,  dark,  and  bead-like,  and  held  a  laugh 
ing  twinkle  in  them.  She  had  a  blunt  nose,  and  flexible 
lips  that  showed  two  rows  of  teeth,  large,  strong,  and  white. 
She  was  accounted  good-looking,  and  had  the  neat  and 
orderly  appearance  common  to  people  of  that  repute.  Her 
compact  and  well-rounded  figure  was  tidily  bestowed  in  a 
blue  and  white  checked  cotton  dress,  and  from  the  "  tuckin'- 
comb  "  at  the  back  of  her  head  no  loose  ends  of  hair  es 
caped.  Her  husband  had  esteemed  himself  singularly  for 
tunate  to  win  such  a  prize,  handicapped  as  he  was  in  the 
matrimonial  race.  He  felt  himself  elderly  at  thirty-five ; 
he  was  a  widower,  poorer  than  his  fellows,  and  burdened 
with  three  children.  It  was  rumored  in  the  Cove  that  she 
had  married  Benjamin  Bowles  to  spite  another  lover,  with 
whom  she  had  quarreled.  It  is  to  be  hoped  that  this 
unique  revenge  smote  with  due  force  its  intended  victim,  but 
Mrs.  Bowles  had  times  of  great  depression  of  spirit,  and  it 
may  be  feared  that  her  chosen  retribution  had  given  her  a 
backhanded  blow  in  its  recoil. 

It  was  with  much  urbanity  that  she  received  the  con 
stable,  who  was  her  cousin,  and  who  had  chanced  to  be 
called  up  into  the  mountain  on  official  business,  and  had 
stopped  to  spend  the  night  at  his  relative's  house.  She  evi 
dently  entertained  some  anxiety  that  a  flattering  report  of 
the  match  she  had  made,  and  her  content  therewith,  should 
go  down  to  the  Cove,  and  for  this  she  exerted  her  tact.  She 
was  smiling  and  brisk  as  she  served  the  supper,  which  was 
savory  enough,  for  she  was  a  good  housewife,  bland  and 
kind  to  her  step-children,  decorous  and  deferential  to  her 
husband  ;  but  her  manner  to  his  brother  was  singularly  null, 
which  indication  Eli  Strobe  did  not  fail  to  notice.  There 
was  antagonism  here,  and  each  was  strong  in  a  way. 
"  Fight  dog,  fight  bar,"  said  Eli  Strobe,  chuckling  to  him 
self. 


16    THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

It  titillated  his  sense  of  humor  to  remember  how  anxious 
she  had  been  that  Jepson  should  join  his  cattle  and  sheep 
and  household  gear  to  her  husband's  stock,  when  his  mother 
had  died,  and  his  home  in  the  valley  was  thus  broken  up. 
It  had  been  a  provident  and  profitable  arrangement  on  her 
part. 

"  Ef  she  jes'  could  hev  got  the  vally  o'  the  stock  'thout 
the  bother  an'  contrariousness  o'  hevin'  Teck  in  the  house, 
would  n't  she  hev  been  happy !  "  Strobe  silently  jeered. 

They  sat  around  the  open  door,  after  the  meal  was  con 
cluded.  The  high  air  was  chill ;  the  influence  of  the  stern 
wilds,  with  the  lonely  moon  upon  them,  with  the  silent  mists 
vagrant  in  the  valleys,  was  vaguely  drear,  but  the  red  flare 
of  the  smouldering  fire  within  was  genial  to  see,  and  har 
monized  with  the  sense  .  of  home.  A'minty  sat  upon  the 
doorstep,  with  the  yellow  cat  in  her  arms  ;  it  was  wakeful, 
eying  the  moonlight,  and  now  and  then  the  flickering  gos 
samer  wing  of  a  cicada's  short  flight  in  a  few  hop  vines  at 
one  side  of  the  porch.  The  old  dog  lay  at  length  and 
drowsed  ;  but  a  puppy  found  an  absorbing  interest  in  a  toad 
hopping  along  the  road,  and  now  sat  and  gazed  at  him  with 
knitted  brows  and  an  intent  attitude,  and  now  smote  him 
with  a  festive  paw  and  treated  him  to  a  high  callow  yap. 
How  the  leaves  of  the  oak  acorded  with  the  moonlight ;  how 
they  lent  their  glossy  surface  to  the  sheen  !  The  shadows 
flecked  the  road  with  dusky  intervals  and  interfulgent  glit 
ter,  and  the  great  crag  that  jutted  out  a  little  way  down  the 
slope  was  half  in  the  gloom  and  half  in  the  light.  Mrs. 
Bowles's  needles  clicked,  as  she  knitted,  and  gleamed  in  the 
red  glow  of  the  fire. 

"Miss  me  enny  in  the  Cove,  cousin  Eli?"  she  demanded, 
flashing  her  beacllike  eyes  upon  him. 

Strobe  thrust  his  hands  deep  in  his  pockets,  swayed  him 
self  far  back  in  his  chair,  and  surveyed  her  with  a  sort  of 
burly  jocosity. 

"  Waal,  /  ain't  missed  ye  ncne,"  he  averred.     He  looked 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.         17 

steadily  at  her,  as  if  to  watch  the  effect  of  this  statement, 
and  she,  apprehending  a  jest,  returned  his  gaze  expectantly. 
"  I  'lowed  ez  Peter  Bryce  war  competent  ter  miss  ye  about 
all  the  missin'  ez  ye  war  entitled  ter.  Ho  !  ho !  I  reckon 
he  'lows  ez  Bowles  air  ez  lucky  ez  a  wishbone." 

And  Benjamin  Bowles,  feeling  somehow  thrust  out  of 
the  conversation  at  his  own  fireside,  so  that  he  could  think 
of  nothing  to  say,  made  haste  to  glibly  laugh  too,  to  show 
his  triumph  in  his  prize ;  for  Peter  Bryce  was  the  rejected 
suitor. 

Mrs.  Bowles  looked  quickly  at  her  husband,  as  if  to 
supervise  the  due  exhibition  of  gratulation  ;  then  laughed 
coquettishly,  with  a  great  show  of  teeth.  "  Oh,  nobody 
expec's  ye  ter  take  ter  jokin'  !  Ye  air  so  sober-sided, 
cousin  Eli." 

She  dropped  a  stitch,  and  bent  forward  to  catch  the  light 
of  the  flames  upon  it.  She  drew  back  with  a  sharp  cry. 

"  Who  put  that  thar  stick  o'  ellum  wood  on  the  fire  ter 
burn  ?  Who  's  burnin'  ellum  ?  "  she  exclaimed,  pointing 
at  it. 

"  'T  ain't  ellum,  air  it  ?  "  Her  husband  bent  over  in 
quick  anxiety  to  see. 

"  Ellum  !  "  said  cousin  Eli  laconically.  "  I  seen  it  ez 
soon  ez  I  kem  in." 

"  It  air  a  sign  o'  bad  luck  !  "  she  protested,  at  once  flus 
tered  and  angry. 

"  Ellum,"  said  cousin  Eli  Strobe  ruminatively.  He 
leaned  forward,  with  his  elbows  on  his  knees,  and  gazed 
into  the  fire  with  his  heavy-lidded  eyes.  "  Ellum,"  he  re 
peated,  his  pipe  between  his  set  teeth.  "  They  makes  coffins 
out'n  ellum,  an'  that 's  why  they  'low  that  burnin'  it  air  a 
sign  o'  death." 

Mrs.  Bowles  looked  at  her  husband  for  a  moment,  aghast. 

"  Sim  mus'  hev  put  it  on,"  said  Bowles,  weakly  seeking 
to  shield  himself. 

Sim  was  a  "small  carrot-headed  boy,  whose  sullen,  watch- 


18         THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDCE   COVE. 

ful  eyes  and  manner,  at  once  cowed  and  resentful,  intimated 
some  harsh  dealings  of  Fate. 

"  It  don't  make  no  diff'ence  ef  Sim  did,"  said  Teck 
Jepson. 

Mrs.  Bowles  looked  at  him  angrily,  apprehending  the 
defiance,  but  silently  ;  he  returned  the  gaze  with  steadfast 
intentness,  and  she  flung  petulantly  away. 

"  Sim  air  a  bad  aig,"  she  remarked.  "  I  dunno  what 
ailed  that  'oman  "  —  thus  she  always  referred  to  her  pred 
ecessor  —  "  ter  raise  her  chil'n  ter  be  so  mean  an'  spiteful. 
She  war  a  fool,  sure  !  " 

"  Waal,  waal,"  said  the  husband  and  father  uneasily,  "  I 
reckon  she  done  the  bes'  she  could." 

It  was  all  he  dared  say  in  defense  of  the  dead,  but  urgent 
conscience  constrained  this.  He  often  thought  of  her,  — 
far  more  often,  doubtless,  than  if  his  second  marriage  had 
been  a  smoother  fate,  —  and  of  the  terrible  winter  that  she 
died,  when  the  mountain  was  sheathed  in  ice  and  impas 
sable  ;  no  man  could  come  up  or  go  down,  and  he  was  iso 
lated  in  his  sorrow.  A  ghastly  gray  day  it  was  when  he 
hollowed  out  with  his  own  hands  a  shallow  grave  in  the 
frozen  ground,  and  laid  her  in  it,  with  only  the  three  bab 
bling  children  to  stand  by.  It  was  in  some  sort  as  an  offer 
ing  to  her  memory  that  he  occasionally  admitted  to  himself 
that  his  second  marriage  was  a  mistake.  Sometimes  he 
tried  to  look  upon  it  as  a  sacrifice :  the  children  would  have 
frozen  stiff,  would  have  starved,  would  have  run  wild,  with 
no  woman  to  look  after  them,  he  said  to  himself.  And  in 
this  half-hearted  matrimonial  bargain  there  was  a  set-off 
for  Mrs.  Bowles's  spited  lover. 

The  influence  of  the  burning  elm  was  very  perceptible 
in  Mrs.  Bowles's  manner  after  that ;  for  a  time  she  was 
silent  and  preoccupied,  and  roused  herself  only  to  rebuke 
the  children,  unmindful  of  the  story  that  would  go  down  to 
the  Cove.  Sim  and  A'minty  were  quick  to  note  the  change 
of  mood,  and  deported  themselves  with  a  dodging  expec- 


THE   DESPOT  OF  BROOM  SEDGE   COVE.          19 

tation  ;  but  Bob,  a  boy  of  four,  sat  before  the  fire,  now 
broadly  smiling,  and  now  nodding  and  dozing  in  bis  chair. 
He  was  plump  and  ruddy,  his  big  eyes  were  hazel  and  bright, 
and  his  hair,  cropped  in  a  unique  manner  by  perverse 
shears,  heightened  the  grotesque  callowness  of  his  aspect. 
The  dogs  walked  casually  over  him  ;  the  cats  climbed  upon 
him,  and  made  him  convenient  to  reach  the  bowl  of  milk 
on  the  table  ;  the  chickens  did  not  scruple  to  perch  upon 
the  arms  of  his  chair,  or  even  on  his  knee,  or  his  hand,  or 
his  head.  The  world  was  not  easy  to  small  Bob  Bowles, 
but  his  was  the  temperament  to  make  it  easier.  A  good- 
tempered,  docile  creature  he  was,  for  he  had  no  sensitive 
sentiments  to  assuage  when  the  smart  to  his  flesh  had 
ceased. 

The  talk  fell  among  the  men,  and  presently  Teck  was  re 
counting  his  garbled  version  of  the  preaching  he  had  heard 
at  the  camp-meeting  in  the  Cove.  The  speed  that  Jehu 
made,  as  he  so  gallantly  drove  into  Jezreel,  had  impressed 
him  deeply.  "  I  wisht  I  knowed  edzac'ly  how  fas'  he  trav 
eled,  an'  sech  time  ez  he  made,"  he  said  wistfully.  "  Pa'son 
never  read  that." 

The  seeming  barbarity  of  the  old  chronicles,  the  poetic 
justice  meted  out  with  so  unfaltering  a  hand,  had  no  morbid 
effect  upon  his  sensibilities.  It  was  but  the  fit  rounding 
of  the  heroic  tale.  The  ghastly  details,  however,  were  an 
aggravation  to  Mrs.  Bowles's  darkened  mood.  "  Air  that 
in  the  Bible  ?  "  she  would  cry  in  dismay.  "  Waal,  sir ! 
I  'm  glad  them  folks  air  gone  !  I  '11  be  bound  they  made 
a  heap  o'  trouble.  They  hed  ter  bar  up  the  door,  in  them 
days,  /  know.  Wuss  'n  the  boys  in  the  Cove." 

She  tried  to  change  the  theme.  She  rallied  her  amiabil 
ity.  She  flashed  her  bead-like  eyes  at  cousin  Eli  with  her 
old-time  coquetry,  and  her  renewed  desire  that  only  triumph 
ant  accounts  might  go  down  to  the  Cove  was  manifest  in 
her  eager  anxiety  to  put  the  small  household  belongings  be 
fore  him  in  their  best  light.  She  seemed  nearer  akin  to 


20          THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE. 

her  household  effects  as  she  sought  to  gloss  over  any  im-^ 
perfection.  Her  recognition  of  their  deficiencies  had 
hitherto  been  couched  in  the  form  of  sneers,  to  acquaint 
her  husband  with  the  damage  "  that  'oman  "  had  done  to 
them. 

"  I  dunno  what  ails  that  cheer  ez  ye  air  settin'  in  ter 
creak  so,  cousin  Eli,"  she  observed.  "  It 's  plumb  strong. 
'T  ain't  goin'  ter  let  ye  down."  Her  reassuring  smile 
showed  her  strong  white  teeth.  Its  suavity  was  gone  be 
fore  its  distention  relaxed,  as  she  turned  suddenly  to  her 
husband.  "  Did  ennybody  ever  put  one  e-end  o'  a  coffin 
inter  it  ?  "  she  asked  breathlessly. 

Bowles  started,  with  a  wild  glance  about  the  room,  as  if 
to  identify  the  chair  that  had  borne  so  ghastly  a  burden. 
*       "  Laws-a-massy,  naw,  M'ria  !     That  cheer  air  in  the  roof- 
room.     What  ails  ye  ter  ax  sech  ?  " 

"  Waal,"  she  said  hastily,  in  much  perturbation,  "  the  old 
folks  'low  ez  sech  a  cheer  will  groan  an'  creak  ever  arter." 

"  'T  ain't  disturbin'  me  noways,  cousin  M'ria,"  said  cousin 
Eli.  "I'll  die  when  my  time  comes."  He  seemed  to 
make  an  admission  in  saying  this  in  a  deep  bass  voice. 

"  I  dunno  what  ailed  me  ter  take  up  sech  a  notion,"  she 
observed,  with  a  forced  laugh,  as  she  resumed  her  knitting. 
After  this  she  succeeded  in  so  steering  the  conversation  as 
to  exclude  Jepson  and  further  reminiscences  of  Jezreel ; 
and  she  was  not  sorry  when,  after  sitting  for  a  time  in 
brooding  silence,  he  rose,  put  his  pipe  into  his  pocket,  and 
strolled  out  upon  the  porch,  then  down  the  path  in  the  light 
of  the  midsummer  moon. 

Somehow  it  seemed  to  share  the  lush  splendors  of  the 
August,  the  climax  of  ripening  growths,  of  fair  fruitions,  of 
rank  and  riotous  blossoming.  Never  before,  he  thought, 
had  it  worn  so  rich  and  radiant  a  guise  as  it  hung  above 
the  purple  mountains  ;  a  gilded  bloom  rested  upon  its  disk  ; 
this  fine  and  delicate  efflorescence  softened  yet  did  not  dim 
its  lustre.  Far,  far,  he  followed  it  amidst  the  great  trees, 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE,         21 

draped  from  their  stupendous  heights  to  the  ground  with 
the  luxuriant  cables  of  the  grapevines,  the  fragrance  of  the 
fruit  perfuming  the  air.  The  laurel  was  done  with  bloom 
ing,  but  the  clew  lurked  in  its  bosky  tangles,  and  sent  out  a 
scintillating  glimmer.  How  few  the  stars  were  !  —  few  and 
faint,  for  the  night  was  the  moon's.  He  paused  in  a  rocky 
rift  in  a  great  gorge,  that  he  might  look  up  to  see  one  afar 
off,  with  a  dim  glitter  ;  and  the  tracings  of  a  coil  that  he 
knew,  but  not  as  Scorpio  ;  and  in  a  gap  in  a  Carolina  Moun 
tain  a  planet  that  was  rising.  How  long  ago  they  were  kin 
dled,  —  these  stars  !  How  many  eyes  had  turned  to  them  ! 
The  prophets  saw  them.  And  as  he  tended  sheep  and  lay 
on  the  hillsides  with  his  flocks,  David  himself  had  known 
these  lucent  splendors.  And  Moses,  familiar  of  the  high 
mountains,  in  whose  fastnesses  he  spoke  with  the  Lord  as 
man  with  man,  —  they  surely  shone  upon  that  hidden  place 
where  the  great  lawgiver  lay. 

"  A  powerful  strange  buryin ',"  he  meditated,  "  the  Lord 
himself  chief  mourner." 

He  paused,  pondering,  with  a  sort  of  solemn  pride  that 
poor  humanity  should  ever  have  been  thus  cherished. 

The  thought  of  death  in  the  gaunt  gorge,  with  the  loom 
ing  cliffs  on  either  side  and  many  a  black  chasm  below ;  with 
only  the  starveling  shrubs  to  grow,  and  the  moon  to  light 
the  stark  spaces  as  of  a  desert  world  ;  with  the  white  mists 
to  hide  the  familiar  valley,  and  a  dark  mountain  to  gloom 
afar,  while  the  lonely  sky  bent  above,  induced  a  strangely 
isolated  feeling,  and  the  recollection  of  a  certain  forlorn  fate 
came  ghastly  and  drear  into  his  mind.  It  was  a  long  time 
ago,  he  said  to  himself,  and  men  die  daily ;  why  should  he 
think,  with  a  numb  chill  upon  him,  of  Samuel  Keale  ?  He 
glanced  upward  among  the  black  shadows  of  the  jagged 
rock,  sharply  outlined  in  the  moon's  light  upon  the  gray 
sandstone.  Suddenly  a  moving  shadow  was  among  them: 
a  wolf,  black  and  grisly,  with  a  lowered  tail  and  a  keen 


22    THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

muzzle,  stood  upon  the  summit,  and  looked  curiously,  with 
doubtful  glittering  eyes  and  a  quivering  snuffing  nostril,  at 
the  motionless  figure  below.  The  cowardly  animal  sprang 
back  affrighted,  when  Jepson  stirred.  He  had  drawn  a 
broad-bladed  knife,  and  passed  his  hand  quickly  along  its 
keen  edge.  But  until  his  stentorian  halloo  roused  the  sleep 
ing  echoes  with  a  thousand  weird  shouts,  the  animal  showed 
sign  of  flight.  It  crouched  like  a  frightened  dog ;  then 
turned,  and  ran  cowering  and  silent  along  the  summit,  paus 
ing  only  once  to  cast  a  swift  glance  backward,  and  so  out 
of  sight. 

"  Ef  ye  hed  been  hongry,  Mister  Wolf,  ye  'd  hev  kem 
down  hyar  ter  see  what  I  be  made  out'n.  Too  many  good 
sheep  an'  yearlin'  cattle  pastured  round  them  thar  moun 
tings  fur  ye  ter  git  fightin'  hongry  till  winter-time." 

He  put  up  his  knife,  but  his  mind  was  tenacious  of  its 
impressions.  The  wolf  had  added  another  grim  suggestion 
to  the  idea  of  death  alone  among  the  mountains,  in  the 
depths  of  the  unexplored,  inaccessible  cave. 

"  'T  ain't  fur  from  hyar-abouts,  I  hearn  tell,"  he  said. 
Then  he  took  himself  to  task.  . "  I  hev  got  ter  quit  this  hyar 
way  o'  lopin'  in  the  woods  like  I  war  bereft.  I  '11  git  teched 
in  the  head,  ef  I  don't  mind.  Folks  are  beginnin'  ter  laff 
at  me,  ennyhows,  'bout  talkin'  so  much  'bout  them  in  the 
Bible.  Las'  time  I  war  at  the  Settlemint,  them  boys  thar 
at  the  store  axed  me,  '  How  's  Solomon,  an'  Mrs.  Solomon  ? ' 
Durn  'em  !  I  'd  hate,  though,  fur  Moses  an'  David  an'  them 
ter  kem  back,  ef  they  could,  an'  find  me  so  beset  an'  tuk  up 
'bout  them  an'  thar  doin's.  I  '11  be  bound  they  would  n't 
take  ez  much  notice  o'  me." 

As  he  sought  to  assume  his  place  on  this  basis  of  mutual 
indifference,  he  noted  a  rock  lying  before  a  niche  in  the 
cliffs.  It  had  been  cleft  by  some  freeze  of  the  past  winter 
perhaps  ;  the  fragment  had  fallen  down  the  chasm  at  some 
distance,  and  he  could  dimly  see  the  black  interior  of  the 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.    23 

fissure.  Once  again,  the  idea  of  death  recurred  to  his  per 
sistent  mind.  This  was  like  the  burial  caves  of  the  Bible, 
with  a  stone  rolled  to  the  door  of  the  crypt.  He  sat  down 
near  at  hand  ;  he  was  trembling  with  the  intensity  of  his 
interest.  He  gazed  at  the  place  with  an  excited  fascination. 
He  wondered  if  any  one  could  have  been  buried  here.  But 
no,  —  he  would  have  heard  of  it.  Besides,  he  was  surprised 
now  that  he  could  have  thought  it,  —  the  place  was  too  con 
tracted  ;  a  full-grown  man  could  not  have  been  entombed 
in  this  niche. 

His  interest  flagged  upon  the  prosaic  summons  of  fact. 
He  rose  to  turn  homeward.  Then  he  stopped  suddenly  and 
looked  back.  In  shifting  his  position  he  saw  the  rnoon  full 
on  the  place  now,  on  the  broken  stone  that  had  been  rolled 
to  the  niche ;  shining  through  the  rift,  blanching  the  sand 
stone,  and  showing  distinctly,  too,  some  dark  object  within. 

He  did  not  understand  his  motive  afterward.  He  fell 
upon  the  rock  in  a  sudden  fury  ;  it  yielded  to  his  strength, 
and  rolled  crashing  down  the  gorge,  rousing  a  wild  clamor 
in  the  silent  mountains.  He  did  not  hear.  He  did  not 
heed. 

The  niche  was  smaller  even  than  he  had  thought.  There 
were  no  ghastly  relics,  no  bones,  no  hair ;  only  a  man's  hat 
and  coat,  quite  fresh  and  well  preserved,  —  the  usual  jeans 
coat,  the  white  wool  hat  common  in  the  mountains ;  but  as 
he  unrolled  them,  there  was  some  vague  air  about  them  that 
was  familiar,  and  he  knew  them  for  the  missing  man's. 
When  were  they  hidden  here?  His  quick  imagination 
could  answer,  could  paint  the  scene  in  every  minute  detail. 
He  saw  the  skulking,  guilty  creature  coming  down  the  gorge 
laden  with  these  garments,  warm  then  from  the  form  chill 
ing  fast,  perhaps,  in  some  icy  subterranean <.  current.  The 
niche  was  a  ready  hiding-place,  the  grea*  rock  close  at 
hand.  And  here  they  had  lain  concealed  till  the  essential 
moment  when  the  freeze  cleft  the  rock  and  rendered  up  the 


24          THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE. 

evidence,  —  the  new  evidence,  so  long  buried  where  the 
criminal  had  hidden  it.  And  as  Jepson  held  the  garments 
aloft  a  recollection  of  his  experience  in  the  courts  came  to 
him.  "  A  man  shall  not  be  placed  twice  in  jeopardy  of  his 
life  for  the  same  offense,"  said  the  lawyer. 


n. 

THE  undying  grandeur  of  the  mountains,  their  solemn 
fixity,  the  mystery  that  hangs  about  them,  and  their  sombre 
silences  impose  upon  the  mind  a  sense  of  immutability,  and 
in  their  midst  human  life  seems  a  fluctuating,  trivial  thing, 
and  men  come  and  go  with  the  transitory  ineffectiveness  of 
a  shifting  vapor. 

Something  of  this  was  in  Teck  Jepson's  thoughts,  as  he 
stood  on  the  river  bank  at  the  baptizing  in  the  valley,  and 
looked  about  him  at  the  close-circling  purple  heights.  He 
remembered  many  who  had  known  them,  and  whom  they 
would  know  no  more  ;  and  he  fancied  that  others  —  half 
fact,  half  figment  of  his  ignorant  imagination  —  had  made 
their  homes  here,  who  had  never  trod  these  rugg'ed  ways. 
And  he  took  note,  too,  of  the  vanishing  presence  of  the  In 
dian  and  those  dim  traditional  pygmy  dwellers  in  Tennessee, 
far  back  in  the  fabulous  perspectives  of  time,  still  vaguely 
known  in  rural  regions  as  the  "  little  people." 

A  dusky  bloom  was  upon  the  vast  slopes,  for  a  black 
cloud  overspread  their  summits  and  portended  rain.  All 
the  landscape  was  in  the  sullen  shadow,  and  wore  this  dull 
purple,  or  a  deep,  indefinite  gray  and  brown,  save  that  upon 
one  of  the  minor  ridges  about  the  base  of  the  Great  Smoky 
the  sun's  rays  fell  diverging  from  a  rift  in  the  clouds,  —  a 
yellow  fibrous  slant  on  the  illuminated  emerald  tint  of  the 
foliage  below,  indescribably  brilliant  in  the  sudden  contrast. 
The  stream,  closely  begirt  on  one  side  by  frowning  crags 
and  lower  rock-bound  banks  on  the  other,  was  black  and 
swift  and  sinister,  with  here  and  there  a  white  flash  of 
foam.  It  might  have  suggested  Styx  rather  than  Jordan, 


26    THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEBGE  COVE. 

but  for  the  congregation  standing  on  the  pebbly  margin 
where  the  county  road  came  down  in  a  cleft  in  the  rocks  to 
a  doubtful  ford,  —  the  landing  being  effected  on  the  oppo 
site  side,  so  far  up  stream  that  it  was  barely  visible,  —  and 
but  for  the  weird  baptismal  hymns  and  the  echoing  psalm 
ody  of  the  heathen  rocks. 

The  assemblage  had  a  melancholy  guise :  the  elder  men 
grizzled  and  grim,  with  broad-brimmed  hats  and  clad  in 
jeans,  and  the  women  with  pallid,  ascetic  faces,  barely 
glimpsed  under  their  long  tunnel-like  sunbonnets,  and  wear 
ing  straight-skirted  homespun  dresses.  Only  in  the  rear 
of  the  crowd  some  of  the  languid  young  mountaineers 
showed  signs  of  latent  but  fitful  levity.  There  were  al 
ways  voices  enough  to  carry  on  the  sonorous  hymn,  though 
under  its  cover  remarks  in  an  undertone  were  often  ex 
changed.  Above  on  the  slope  were  hitched  the  ox-wagons 
and  saddle-horses  that  had  conveyed  the  company  hither, 
but  in  the  defile  between  the  crags  were  two  horsemen,  still 
mounted,  gravely  watching  the  rite  administered. 

It  was  an  impressive  moment  when  the  old  preacher,  his 
white  hair  and  his  lined  face  ghastly  in  the  unnatural  light 
of  the  day,  forged  out  into  the  current,  leading  a  young  girl 
by  the  hand,  and  crying  out  in  the  silence,  —  for  the  song 
had  ceased,  —  "  This  is  the  river  o'  death  !  Come  down, 
my  sister,  and  be  buried  with  Christ  in  baptism." 

A  flickering  glow  of  lightning,  broad  and  faint,  ran  over 
the  clouds,  and  illumined  her  pale  face  and  her  coils  of  fair 
hair,  as  she  was  slowly  laid  backward  into  the  depths  of  the 
black  water.  The  next  moment  she  rose,  dimly  descried  in 
the  dun  light  of  the  gray  day,  exclaiming  that  she  had  risen 
from  the  dead,  and  crying,  "  Glory  !  Glory  !  "  in  an  ecstatic 
frenzy,  as  she  struggled,  with  dripping  hair  and  garments, 
to  the  shore. 

All  the  rocks  echoed  the  shrill,  rapturous  cry,  and  "  Glory  ! 
Glory!  "  sounded  far  and  faint  up  and  down  the  river. 

"  On  Jordan's  stormy  banks  I  stand  I  "     The  chorus  was 


THE  DESPOT  Or  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.    27 

renewed,  its  wistful,  subdued  spirit  contrasting  with  the  joy 
ful  exclamation,  '*  Glory  !  "  that  still  pierced  its  cadences. 

Suddenly  a  sturdy,  stout  young  man  with  short  cropped 
black  hair,  a  bullet  head,  and  an  intent  manner,  and  clad  in 
copper-colored  jeans,  plunged  into  the  cold  water  and  waded 
out  alone,  not  waiting  to  be  met  by  the  parson  ;  for  when 
the  old  man  turned  about,  the  candidate  was  standing  in 
the  middle  of  the  river. 

"  Ye  notice  how  turrible  brash  Josiah  Preen  be,  —  can't 
wait  fur  pa'son  ter  summons  him,"  one  of  the  horsemen  in 
the  gorge  observed  to  the  other,  k'  but  needs  ter  dash  out  in 
the  ruver  that-a-way,  ez  ef  thar  warn't  water  enough  ter  go 
'roun',  an'  he  'd  miss  his  chance  o'  gittin'  glory." 

"  He  be  goin'  ter  save  his  soul  hisself ;  he  ain't  goin'  ter 
wait  on  the  slow  arm  o'  the  Lord,"  commented  the  other. 

"  He  's  ez  awk'ard  ez  a  peeg  caught  in  a  gate,"  returned 
his  companion.  "  I  ain't  s'prised  none  ef  he  gits  flustrated, 
an'  drowns  in  that  shallow  water." 

And  indeed  there  was  a  vigorous  scuffle,  as  the  candidate 
misunderstood  the  direction  and  manner  in  which  the  stal 
wart  old  clergyman  proposed  to  lower  his  robust  bulk.  He 
was  under  water  longer  than  the  usual  interval.  It  splashed 
and  surged  above  him,  and  finally  he  came  up,  seemingly 
in  an  athletic  struggle  with  the  parson,  choking  and  sputter 
ing  and  meekly  submitting  to  be  led  to  the  bank,  shuffling 
and  hindered  by  his  heavy  water-logged  garments. 

The  congregation  solemnly  resumed  the  chant,  as  if  the 
rite  had  been  administered  in  its  most  decorous  method  ; 
but  its  mishaps  occasioned  great  though -suppressed  joy  to 
the  young  sinners  in  the  rear  and  to  the  two  men  on  horse 
back  in  the  defile. 

Most  of  the  candidates  were  young  people,  some  mere 
children,  for  the  elders  had  "got  religion"  long  years  ago. 
The  "  perfessin'  members  "  looked  on.  at  the  ceremony  with 
retrospective  eyes,  wise  in  experience. 

"  Ye  'low  ye  air  comin  up  inter  a  new  land  !  "  cried  out 


28          THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE. 

one  of  the  brethren  suddenly,  expressing,  perhaps,  the 
thought  of  many  of  the  congregation.  The  exhorting  voice 
had  a  strange  staccato  effect  in  the  midst  of  the  chanting, 
which  diminished  gradually  and  quavered  into  silence,  — 
"  inter  a  new  Ian',  whar  godliness  finds  a  smooth  path  an' 
needs  no  staff  fur  its  steppin'  out  strong,  an'  the  way  is 
plain,  an'  the  end  in  view !  Oh,  my  frien's,  this  ain't 
Canaan,  an'  nuthin'  like  it ;  jes'  old  Kildeer  County,  whar 
the  devil  loves  ter  roam  an'  rage.  An'  now  's  yer  chance  to 
show  yer  heart  air  changed  !  Ye  '11  find  yer  besettin'  sins 
like  tares  in  the  groun',  an'  Satan  a-waitin'  in  the  briers  ter 
tempt  yer  steps.  The  day  is  dark,  an'  the  way  —  ah  !  —  is 
long  —  ah  !  —  an'  no  man  kin  see  whar  it  leads  —  ah  ! 
Oh,  be  not  a  cast-away  !  "  His  voice  rose  into  song  and 
the  docile  chorus  followed  :  — 

'  Oh,  be  not  a  castaway, 
Ye  whom  Jesus  loves.'  " 

A  heavily  built  man  of  forty  was  one  of  the  exceptions 
to  the  prevalent  youthfulness  of  the  candidates.  He  went 
down  in  a  hesitant  and  circumspect  manner,  and  he  entered 
the  cold  water  so  slowly  as  to  suggest  reluctance. 

"  He  ain't  used  ter  that  thar  kind  o'  liquor,"  one  of  the 
unregenerate  horsemen  observed,  in  a  low  tone.  He  had 
crossed  his  right  leg  over  on  the  pommel  of  his  saddle,  and 
he  leaned  his  elbow  on  his  knee,  and  rested  his  chin  in  his 
hand  as  he  talked,  looking  between  his  horse's  intent  ears. 
"  An'  he  ain't  got  no  real  interns'  in  the  Ian'  a-flowin'  with 
milk  an'  honey.  He  'd  git  mighty  happy,  now,  though,  ef 
somebody  ez  knowed  could  make  him  b'lieve  they  hed  a 
quiet  leetle  still  hid  up  in  one  e-end  o'  Canaan." 

"  What  ailed  him  ter  git  religion,  ennyhow  ?  "  demanded 
the  other,  whose  horse  was  restive,  bowing  down  his  head 
and  tossing  his  mane,  and  from  time  to  time  lifting  his  fore 
foot  and  pawing  impatiently. 

"  His  wife  died,  an'  that  reminded  him  he  war  mortial 
hisse'f.  His  religion  '11  las'  him  jes'  'bout  ez  long  ez  he 
'members  his  wife." 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOM  SEDGE   COVE.         29 

"  An'  that  '11  be  till  he  kin  git  him  another  one  —  ez  ain't 
dead,"  rejoined  his  co-cynic. 

The  candidate  assumed  a  port  of  religious  joy,  as  he  rose 
with  a  commotion  of  the  water  that  reached  in  concentric 
circles  from  bank  to  bank.  A  yellow  flicker  glanced  along 
the  dark  ripples,  for  the  sharp  blades  of  the  lightnings  cleft 
the  clouds.  The  wooded  slopes,  the  crags,  the  level  reaches 
of  the  valley,  were  lifted,  with  all  their  tints  distinct  in  this 
unnatural,  dream-like  light  for  a  moment,  then  sank  into 
the  dull  purple  monotony  of  the  overhanging  cloud.  His 
bearded  face  and  wild  eyes  were  illumined  for  the  instant, 
as  he  came  struggling  to  the  shore,  hoarsely  shouting  that 
he  had  viewed  heaven  and  was  risen  from  the  dead,  while 
the  faint,  sullen  thunder  muttered  among  the  mountain- 
tops. 

The  next  moment  a  thrill  ran  through  the  assemblage 
other  than  the  fervors  of  religion,  or  the  natural  curiosity 
elicited  by  the  developments  hitherto.  A  man,  for  whom 
the  pastor  was  waiting  in  the  stream,  was  coming  down  the 
bank,  —  a  man  with  that  singular  pallor  acquired  by  years 
of  indoor  life,  and  known  as  *'  jail  bleach ;  "  a  tall,  thin  fig 
ure,  clad  in  brown  jeans  that  hung  loosely  upon  him.  He 
had  bright,  quick,  gray  eyes,  black  hair  that  lay  straight  and 
close  about  a  narrow,  thin  head,  and  clear-cut,  regular  fea 
tures  ;  the  profile  showed  with  onyx-like  distinctness  against 
the  clouds  and  the  dark  river,  in  the  lurid  light  of  the  day. 
It  wras  Jake  Baintree,  the  man  who  had  last  seen  the  miss 
ing  mountaineer,  and  who  had  been  tried  for  his  murder 
and  acquitted. 

The  congregation  had  forgotten  to  sing.  It  was  in  dead 
silence  that  he  went  down  to  the  typical  flood  to  wash  his 
sins  away. 

Hoof-beats  smote  suddenly  the  tense  and  stormy  stillness. 
The  horsemen  were  riding  down  the  rocky  defile  to  hear 
what  might  be  said,  reining  in  at  the  rear  of  the  crowd ; 
one  standing  erect  in  his  stirrups,  to  look  over  the  heads 


30         THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDCE   COVE. 

and  down  into  the  dark  current,  the  other  kneeling  on  his 
saddle. 

It  was  not  the  parson  who  met  Jake  Baintree.  A  fig 
ure  like  Saul's,  taller  by  a  head  than  all  his  fellows,  with  a 
long  supple  step,  an  imperious  erectness,  and  a  manner  that 
would  not  be  denied,  interposed  on  the  bank  of  the  river, 
laid  a  hand  on  the  candidate's  breast,  and  held  him  back. 

"  Wait,  Jacob  Baintree !  "  exclaimed  Teck  Jepson. 
"  Wait  till  ye  hear  how  the  rocks  hev  cried  out  agin  ye. 
They  would  not  hold  thar  peace,  though  the  jedge  an'  the 
juries  let  thar  hands  fall,  an'  jestice  dwindled  away.  An' 
what  did  the  rocks  say  ?  " 

He  stood  alert,  tingling  in  every  fibre,  his  hand  still  on 
the  man's  breast,  who  had  put  up  both  his  own  hands  to 
pull  it  down.  But  there  they  rested  upon  it,  as  if  palsied, 
while  he  fixed  his  startled,  fascinated  gaze  upon  the  fiery 
eyes  of  the  other. 

"  The  rocks  say,  '  Sam'l  Keale's  coat !  '  :  Jepson  held 
up  a  dark  garment,  shaking  it  in  the  air.  A  tremor  ran 
through  the  crowd  ;  a  low,  inarticulate  exclamation  burst 
from  it.  The  candidate's  hands  fell  from  the  arm  he  had 
sought  to  clutch.  He  winced  perceptibly,  and  Teck  Jep- 
son's  grasp  closed  on  his  collar.  He  should  hear ;  they  all 
should  heed.  "  An'  then  the  rocks  say,  l  Sam'l  Keale's 
hat !  ' '  Jepson  held  it  aloft.  "  I  fund  'em  in  a  hollow, 
ahint  a  rock,  folks,  —  a  rock  ez  would  n't  hide  'em,  for  the 
freeze  split  it,  an'  revealed  the  gyarmcnts  ter  my  eye. 
Now,"  —  he  flung  the  man  from  him,  —  "  go  ter  yer  bap 
tism  in  brimstun'  an'  wrath,  whar  the  worm  dieth  not,  an' 
the  fire  is  not  squenched  !  " 

He  turned,  and  was  lost  in  the  crowd,  many  shrinking 
away  in  horror  from  the  garments  he  held  in  either  hand, 
and  from  his  furious  look  and  manner.  For  there  was  some 
sympathy  for  the  man  whom  he  left  trembling  on  the  bank, 
and  attentive  ears,  and  minds  open  to  conviction,  were  lent 
to  Baintree's  words  as  he  exclaimed,  — 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.         31 

"  I  can't  holp  it,  brethren.  I  dunno  what  Sam'l  done 
with  his  old  clothes,  nor  why  he  hid  'em  in  a  rock.  I  dunno 
ef  they  air  SamTs,  an'  Teck  Jepson  don't  nuther.  But  "  — 
he  subtly  felt  the  strength  of  his  argument  —  "  he  sha'n't 
bender  me  !  The  devil  sha'n't  bender  me  !  I  hev  got  my 
religion.  '  Oh,  grace  is  mine  !  I  hev  got  my  sheer  !  '  "  he 
sang  tremulously. 

Somehow  the  excited  people  did  not  join,  and  he  went 
down  into  the  black  water  to  the  music  of  his  own  quaver 
ing  voice. 

The  parson  stood  as  if  petrified  in  the  midst  of  the 
stream.  The  lightning  illumined  his  white  hair,  and  the 
thunder  rolled  once  more.  The  clouds  were  in  motion ; 
there  was  a  dank  smell  of  foliage  in  the  air ;  rain  had  begun 
to  fall  somewhere  in  the  mountains,  —  a  matter  ordinarily 
of  interest  to  an  unhoused  crowd  so  far  from  any  shelter  or 
habitation.  But  they  all  remained  motionless,  watching  the 
young  man  as  he  waded  out  to  meet  the  venerable  pastor. 

Suddenly  the  parson's  figure  stirred.  He  lifted  his  arms  ; 
he  was  sternly  waving  the  candidate  away.  "  Until  ye  con 
fess, —  until  ye  confess!"  he  cried,  striding  toward  the 
bank,  presently  lifting  his  voice  into  song,  mechanically 
joining  the  rejected  aspirant's  refrain,  "  Oh,  grace  is  mine  ! 
I  hev  got  my  sheer !  "  unconscious  of  any  satiric  meaning 
the  words  conveyed. 

The  crowd  took  up  the  chant  fragmentary,  amidst  the 
pealings  of  the  thunder  and  the  sharp  dartings  of  the 
lightning  ;  it  was  broken,  too,  by  their  movement,  for  as 
they  sang  they  were  turning  toward  their  wagons  and 
horses.  The  fircfc  heavy  drops  of  rain  were  falling  as 
Jacob  Baintree  reached  the  rocky  bank,  scrambling  up  its 
rugged  slopes  into  the  very  drear  scenes  of  this  world  as 
he  knew  it. 


III. 

THE  energy  of  a  persecutor  for  conscience'  sake  is  a 
robust  endowment.  Untrammeled  by  the  sense  of  any  per 
sonal  shortcomings,  by  doubts,  or  extenuations,  or  denials ; 
devoid  of  compassion  or  sympathy  ;  insistent,  blind,  un 
reasoning,  it  affords  unique  opportunity  for  the  display  of 
consistency. 

Teck  Jepson,  as  he  strode  along  the  red  clay  road  toward 
the  purple  slopes,  to  meet  a  dun-colored  mist  rolling  down 
from  the  black  cloud,  bore  a  strong  heart  within  him,  and 
the  testimony  of  a  conscience  essentially  his  own.  He  en 
countered  rebuke,  or  remonstrance  from  those  trudging  on 
in  company  by  the  stalwart  declaration,  "  Ez  the  Lord  bade 
me,  so  I  did  act !  "  His  manner  implied  a  fierce  elation, 
and  his  tall  massive  figure,  his  free  strong  gait,  his  erect 
head,  were  conspicuous  in  the  midst  of  his  more  slouching 
companions.  He  flung  the  sonorous  phrase  over  his  shoul 
der,  heedless  whether  it  were  answered  or  how,  and  often 
the  interlocutor  was  silenced  by  this  assumption  of  a  subtly 
delegated  authority.  But  there  sometimes  ensued  excited 
argument  among  the  portion  of  the  congregation  that 
chanced  to  go  his  way.  In  it  he  took  no  part ;  now  and 
again  he  lifted  his  voice  in  the  final  chant  of  the  meeting, 
"  Grace  is  mine ;  I  hev  got  my  sheer !  "  joining  the  refrain, 
as  it  was  sung  afar  off  amongst  groups  wending  northward 
or  southward.  Sometimes  only  a  white-covered  wagon  was 
visible  in  the  distance  on  some  high  slope,  rounding  a  pre 
cipitous  curve  at  the  verge,  and  then  disappearing  in  the 
dense  foliage  ;  and  again  the  presence  of  the  dispersing 
worshipers  was  merely  intimated  by  the  song  rising  faint 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.    33 

and  far  from  the  deep  coverts  of  the  mountain,  mournfully 
ringing  from  crag  to  crag,  and  now  and  then  accentuated 
by  a  crash  of  thunder. 

Often  the  comments  of  his  companions  assumed  the  third 
person,  so  imperatively  did  liis  manner  imply  the  with 
drawal  of  his  attention  :  — 

"  I  say,  '  Ez  the  Lord  bid  him  '  !  Shucks  !  The  Lord 
ain't  studyin'  'bout  Teck  Jepson,"  declared  Joe  Bassett,  one 
of  the  horsemen  who  had  watched  the  scene  from  the  de 
file.  "  The  Lord  hev  fairly  f urgot  the  critter  war  ever  cre 
ated,"  he  continued,  thus  arrogating  also  intimations  from 
above.  "  An'  hyar  's  Teck  jes'  a-settin'  back  an'  purtendin' 
ter  be  gifted  with  wisdom  from  on  high  !  " 

He  swung  his  feet  in  a  disparaging  manner  in  and  out  of 
his  stirrup-irons,  arid  rolled  about  in  the  saddle  with  an  air 
burlesquing  exaggerated  importance.  He  was  a  tall,  good- 
looking  fellow,  with  a  bronzed  face  and  **  sandy  "  hair  and 
beard. 

But  when  Parson  Donnard  rode  by,  the  respect  for  Teck 
Jepson's  views  was  enhanced  by  the  reminder  of  the  pastor's 
acquiescence.  He  cast  his  excited  light  gray  eye  upon  Jep 
son.  The  young  man  glanced  up,  —  not  with  the  manner 
of  seeking  countenance  or  needing  support ;  it  was  with  the 
confident  expectation  of  approval  that  he  said,  ';  Ez  the 
Lord  bade  me,  so  I  did  act." 

"  Follow  the  voice  of  the  Lord,  brother,"  responded  the 
parson's  deep  bass  tones,  and  so  he  rode  on. 

He  had  an  ascetic  visage,  with  a  hollow  temple,  a  thin 
hooked  nose,  a  long,  firm  upper  lip  that  closed  with  a  fixed 
expression  upon  the  lower,  which  was  equally  as  thin  and 
straight.  He  was  keen  on  doctrinal  points,  and  had  severely 
elective  theories  as  to  admission  through  the  golden  gates. 
In  fact,  heaven  would  be  somewhat  deserted  and  sorry  as  a 
final  resort,  if  Parson  Donnard's  passport  were  essential. 
He  drove  a  hard  bargain  in  salvation,  and  there  were  those 
of  his  flock  who  feebly  sought  to  resign  themselves  to  dam- 


34    THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

nation,  so  imminent  did  it  seem  under  his  ministration. 
He  rode  a  big  gray  mule,  that  lifted  him  high  above  his 
people,  amongst  whom  he  deftly  threaded  in  and  out.  His 
progress  was  unlike  that  of  the  ox-wagons ;  the  burly  teams, 
with  their  swinging  gait  to  and  fro,  preempted  the  narrow 
spaces  of  the  red  clay  road,  and  caused  the  passing  pedes 
trians  to  betake  themselves  to  the  heavily  gullied  slopes  on 
either  side.  Numbers  of  dogs,  partakers  in  all  mountain 
excursions,  trotted  demurely  along  under  the  wagon-beds, 
or  followed  close  at  their  masters'  heels.  More  than  once 
a  terrible  forked  blue  flash  of  lightning  rent  the  clouds,  with 
a  simultaneous  detonation,  significant  and  sinister.  Some 
tree  on  the  heights  had  been  struck,  but  only  the  horses 
were  restive.  The  women  sat,  unmarking,  crowding  the 
wagons  ;  here  and  there  one,  young  and  slender,  rode  be 
hind  her  cavalier  on  horseback.  The  rain  fell  in  large, 
heavy  drops,  then  ceased,  arid  the  primitive  procession 
wended  its  way,  under  the  black  clouds,  toward  the  great 
steeps.  It  had  gradually  scattered,  dwindled,  and  the 
horsemen  were  far  in  advance  of  the  others,  when  Teck 
Jepson  turned  into  the  ragged  little  bridle-path  that  led  up 
the  mountain.  He  could  distinguish,  as  he  stood  here  alone, 
far  along  the  curves  of  the  road,  figures  whose  guise  was  in 
some  way  familiar  to  him,  and  thus  to  be  recognized.  They 
suggested  to  him  pilgrims  and  strangers  journeying  through 
life  in  forlorn  and  mournful  ways.  The  mountains  tow 
ered  above.  A  great  bird,  buffeted  by  the  rising  wind,  was 
fain  to  drift  with  it  across  the  black  sky.  The  river's  re 
flection  of  a  flash  of  lightning,  writhing  through  the  valley, 
betokened  the  presence  of  the  watercourse  among  the  tim 
ber ;  and  suddenly  the  clouds  began  visibly  to  descend, 
shred  by  the  wind,  and  here  and  there  slanting  into  myr 
iads  of  lines  of  rain.  A  hesitating  drop  fell  upon  the  wide 
brim  of  his  hat,  and  then  the  world  was  lost  in  the  tumul 
tuous  downpour.  Naught  could  be  seen  but  its  serried, 
dun-colored  fibres,  save  when  the  lightning  flashed  through, 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.    35 

revealing  vague  shapes  of  looming  mountain,  or  rock,  or 
forest.  In  one  of  these  illuminations,  Teck  Jepson,  walk 
ing  blindly  on,  came  to  a  place  that  he  knew.  He  turned 
aside,  and  climbed  up  a  rugged  slope  toward  a  great  sand 
stone  cliff  which  jutted  out  so  far  that  the  space  beneath 
must  be  dry,  he  thought,  while  the  wind  held  to  its  mood. 
He  kept  along  the  sides  of  the  sheer  sandstone  walls  for  a 
time,  helping  himself  by  the  outspread  boughs  of  the  laurel 
or  a  pendent  vine,  till  suddenly  a  great  rift  in  the  rock  was 
at  hand.  He  could  see  the  jagged  edge  of  the  crag  beetling 
high  above ;  could  hear  amidst  the  stormy  dash  of  the  rain 
the  slow  patter  of  the  drops,  falling  by  twos  and  threes  from 
the  eaves-like  ledges.  A  tall  bull-weed,  that  swung,  purple 
and  burly,  among  the  rocks,  was  dry,  and  as  he  turned  into 
the  great  niche,  chill  and  .white  and  sheltered,  he  became 
aware  that  others  had  sought  the  refuge  before  him.  In 
the  depths  within  a  child  was  standing,  and  a  young  girl 
sat  upon  a  ledge,  a  great  dog  beside  her,  her  elbow  on  her 
knee,  her  chin  in  her  hand,  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  surging 
storm  without.  His  cursory  glance  made  sure  only  that 
she  was  a  stranger.  He  hardly  noted  her  start  of  surprise, 
her  intent  gaze  suddenly  fixed  upon  him,  her  murmured 
response  to  his  succinct  salutation,  "  Howdy !  "  He  sank 
down  on  a  bowlder  that  lay  near  the  entrance,  leaning  back 
against  the  ledge  above,  his  elbow  on  it,  and  supporting  his 
head  in  his  hand.  He,  too,  looked  out  at  the  rain  surging 
before  the  entrance,  enveloping  all  the  world  in  its  dim  and 
misty  veil ;  the  bull-weed  swayed  ;  the  drops  that  fell  on  the 
edge  of  the  stone  flooring,  as  it  were,  of  the  niche  rebounded 
slightly,  shimmered  with  a  steely  glitter,  and  fell  once  more. 
The  roar,  the  aggregated  accentuation  of  every  separate 
drop,  was  a  distinct  sound,  easilv  distinguishable  from  the 
swirling  frenzy  of  the  wind,  or  the  mutter  of  the  thunder,  or 
the  turmoil  of  the  noisy  rills  summoned  into  existence  by  the 
conformation  of  the  slopes.  He  was  as  still  as  if  he  were 
carved  in  stone ;  a  massive  figure,  not  devoid  of  a  certain 


36          THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE. 

grace,  despite  the  rude  garb  of  jeans,  the  high  boots  drawn 
over  his  knee,  the  drooping  curves  of  his  broad  hat.  The 
girl  had  not  again  glanced  toward  him,  but  remained 
motionless,  her  chin  in  her  hand,  her  elbow  on  her  knee, 
absorbed  in  her  own  thoughts.  The  manners  of  the  ancient 
hound  were  less  reflective.  He  sat  upright  on  the  ledge, 
looking  out  at  the  chill  descent  of  the  rain,  elusively  com 
mingling  with  the  mist,  now  and  again  swayed  hither  and 
thither  by  the  pervasive  gusts ;  and  as  he  looked  he  shiv 
ered  in  every  limb,  and  yawned  shrilly  and  loudly.  The 
inarticulate  tones  reverberated  from  the  roof  of  the  con 
tracted  space,  and  were  repeated  unmusically  from  wall  to 
wall.  Teck  Jepson  glanced  up  at  the  disaffected  animal, 
who  found  this  detention  so  dull,  as  the  dog  once  more 
yawned  to  an  unprecedented  extent,  stretching  himself  to 
his  extremest  length,  and  rasping  his  long  claws  on  the 
stones. 

"  Hush  up !  "  cried  Jepson,  in  momentary  inadvertence. 

But  the  old  hound,  glad  of  conversation  on  any  terms, 
wagged  his  tail  good-hurnoredly,  and  came  down  off  the 
ledge  to  lick  the  stranger's  hand.  The  girl's  face  bore  a 
shade  of  displeasure,  although  she  made  no  sign  that  she 
had  heard.  Jepson's  eyes  fell  upon  her  again.  He  sat 
gazing  at  her,  a  slow  surprise  kindling  in  his  face.  She 
took  no  heed,  but  looked  out  at  the  null  mists  and  the 
monotonous  rain  with  eyes  that  seemed  as  if  they  never 
could  be  dimmed  by  aught  on  earth,  so  pensively  lustrous, 
so  crystal  clear,  they  were.  They  had  long  dark  lashes, 
and  were  of  a  rich  brown  color,  a  tint  that  was  repeated  in 
her  curling  hair,  and  suggested  to  his  homely  experience 
the  gloss  and  tone  of  a  chestnut  fresh  from  the  burr.  Her 
hair  waved  backward  with  a  deep  undulation,  which  he 
called  a  "  cow-lick,"  from  a  brow  smooth  and  white  and 
broad.  She  had  no  color  in  her  cheeks,  but  her  lips  were 
deeply  crimson  and  delicately  cut,  and  there  was  a  fine  free 
line  drawn  from  the  lower  one,  defining  the  chin  and  her 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.         37 

slender  throat.  Her  dark  blue  homespun  dress  draped  a 
tall,  lithe  figure,  and  the  full  skirt  afforded  sufficient  ampli 
tude  for  the  old  dog  to  ensconce  himself  upon  its  folds  and 
lie  wheezingly  down,  looking  out  once  more  at  the  rainfall, 
and  then  closing  his  eyes  in  a  sort  of  blinking  resignation. 
Before  long  he  nodded,  his  lips  languishing  from  their 
habitual  position  :  his  expression  would  have  seemed  a 
clever  caricature  of  himself,  if  it  were  intentional.  Still 
she  supported  her  chin  in  her  hand,  slightly  bending  for 
ward,  her  elbow  resting  on  her  knee,  her  foot,  in  its  little 
low-cut  shoe  with  its  leather  lacing,  on  the  stone  below. 
And  still  Jepson  gazed. 

"  I  dunno  ez  I  ever  seen  ye  afore,"  he  observed  pres 
ently. 

Her  eyes  turned  slowly,  as  she  gravely  surveyed  him. 

"  I  hev  seen  ye.  a-many-a-time,  —  at  preachin',"  she  ad 
mitted  naively,  "  at  the  church-house,  and  at  camp,  too." 

Her  voice  was  keyed  low,  and  it  had  a  soft  and  hesi 
tating  accent,  as  if  she  were  solicitous  for  the  impression 
conveyed. 

"Waal,  I  don't  see  nuthin'  at  meetin',"  he  observed,  with 
prideful  piety.  "  I  be  all  tuk  up  with  the  Word." 

"  I  'm  a  perfesser,"  she  hastily  stipulated,  sitting  upright 
and  looking  animatedly  at  him.  "  I  hev  been  perfessin'  a 
right  smart  time  ;  but  —  I  ain't  —  leastwise  "  —  she  hesi 
tated,  —  "  the  sperit  ain't  never  hendered  me  from  seem' 
some  ez  air  a-goin'  on,  though  I  ain't  gin  over  ter  lookinr 
'bout,  nuther." 

"  Ye  ain't  hed  much  pourin'  out  o'  the  sperit,  then,"  he 
remarked  ungraciously. 

"  Mebbe  not,"  she  admitted.  Then  with  a  sudden  thought, 
"  I  jes'  tell  ye,  though,  thar  'd  be  a  mighty  fallin'  off  in 
religion  ef  the  saints  could  n't  consort  tergether  somewhar, 
an'  see  one  'n other,  an'  talk  an'  laff,  arter  the  preachin'  's 
over.  Heap  o'  fun  goes  on  at  camp,  too." 

"  Them  ez  enjyes  tharse'fs  at  camp  won't  'low  't  war  sech 


38          THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOUSEDGE   COVE. 

ticklin'  fun  whenst  they  gits  ter  blisterin'  in  hell,  I  '11  be 
bound,"  he  declared,  with  pious  relish. 

She  replied  uneasily,  "  Mebbe  not."  Then  she  looked 
off  a  little  drearily  into  the  rain  ;  for  he  had  a  coercively 
convincing  manner,  and  perhaps  she  was  reviewing  with 
gloomy  forebodings  the  fun  she  had  had  at  camp-meeting. 

It  was  hardly  mercy  that  prompted  him  to  change  the 
subject  or  any  disposition  to  mitigate  the  terrors  of  future 
retribution  as  revealed  to  him.  But  he  was  a  young  man, 
and  his  mundane  tendencies  were  none  the  less  strong  be 
cause  unrecognized. 

"  That  thar  yer  dog?  "  he  asked  trivially. 

She  responded  with  brightening  interest  to  the  more  famil 
iar  theme. 

"  Naw,"  she  said;  "he's  jes'  a  sorter  —  a  sorter  frien' 
o'  mine."  She  laughed  a  little,  —  a  fascinating,  elusive 
gleam  upon  her  grave  face,  like  the  flitting  presence  of  a 
sunbeam  in  a  solemn  and  solitary  place. 

"  Neighbor's  dog  ?  "  demanded  Jepson. 

"  Naw."  Once  more  the  smile  rippled  across  her  red 
lips,  showing  her  even  white  teeth.  "  His  owner  lives  toler- 
'ble  fur,  over  ter  Chilhowee  ;  but  this  hyar  dog  kem  a-visit- 
in'  along  o'  him,  an'  he  kem  right  off' n,  an'  the  dog  got 
purty  well  treated,  till  now  the  dog  —  comical  old  critter," 
she  laughed,  with  her  hand  on  the  hound's  head  —  "  kerns 
thar  ez  ef  we  war  expectin'  of  him,  an'  sets  up  by  the  fire 
like  folks.  I  never  seen  the  beat !  " 

There  was  a  sudden  gleam  in  Jepson's  eyes  ;  the  blue  iris 
had  a  lighter  tint.  His  lip  curled. 

u  His  owner  got  purty  well  treated,"  he  said,  with  per 
verse  and  intentional  misunderstanding. 

"  The  dog !  "  She  was  fluttered  in  her  haste  to  correct 
him.  "  The  dog  got  purty  well  treated." 

"  Ef  he  kem  so  all-fired  often,"  he  observed,  "  the  owner 
mus'  hev  kem  a-courtin'."  Then  he  looked  quickly  at  her. 

She   flushed    to  her  temples  ;  her  eyes  were  alight  with 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COTE.    39 

anger ;  she  seemed  on  the  verge  of  an  outburst.  Checking 
herself,  she  said  demurely,  "/  never  thunk  so,  for  one. 
His  owner  air  eighty  year  old." 

Teck  Jepson  had  seldom  known  the  twinge  of  ridicule. 
He  looked  away  convinced  that  she  was  secretly  laughing 
in  triumph  at  his  discomfiture  because  of  this  adroit  turn 
of  the  conversation.  But  when  he  again  glanced  at  her  she 
had  relapsed  into  her  former  attitude,  her  chin  in  her  hand, 
her  foot  on  the  stone,  looking  out  silently  and  dreamily. 
Her  aspect  was  little  that  of  a  doughty  opponent  in  a  war 
of  words,  and  he  took  heart  of  grace. 

"  That 's  fust  rate  fur  a  perfessin'  member,"  he  declared. 
He  did  not  fail  to  observe  that  she  winced.  "  I  '11  b'lieve 
that  whenst  I  see  that  thar  frequent  vis'tor's  white  scalp,  an* 
no  sooner/' 

For  a  moment  it  seemed  as  if  she  might  laugh  again. 
Then  she  turned  upon  him  with  genuine  anger,  not  less  se 
rious  that  it  was  sudden  :  — 

"  I  ain't  able  ter  see  what  gin  ye  a  call  ter  meddle  in  it. 
The  frequent  vis'tor  ain't  wantin'  ter  be  baptized,  an'  ain't 
a-ondertakin'  ter  go  ter  heaven  along  o'  you-uns  or  enny 
other  survigrous  saint.  Ef  he  kin  git  the  folks  he  wants 
ter  'sociate  with  in  this  worl',  the  Lord  '11  hev  ter  poke  him 
up  with  a  mighty  sharp  stick  ter  make  him  keer  ennythin* 
'bout  the  nex'  worl'.  That 's  the  state  o'  the  frequent  vis' 
tor.  Whenst  I  see  ye  kemin'  in  this  place,  whar  me  an' 
my  little  sister,  Is'bel,  hed  got  fust  ter  keep  dry,  I  'd  hev 
made  ye  stan  outside,  ef  I  'd  know'd  ye  hed  no  mo'  man 
ners  than  ter  ax  me  who  kerns  a-courtin'  an'  who  don't.  I 
'lowed,  though,  from  the  way  ye  cavorted  down  yander  ter 
the  baptizin',  ez  ye  war  powerful  perlite  an'  pious,  bein' 
sech  a  Christian,  an'  yer  mind  war  n't  set  on  courtin'.  Talk- 
in'  'bout  courtin'  ter  folks  ye  never  see  afore !  " 

"  I  '11  be  bound  I  know  jes'  who  ye  air,  —  yer  dad  an' 
all  yer  folks,"  he  declared,  in  hasty  self -justification. 
"  'T  ain't  ez  ef  ye  'd  met  up  with  a  stranger,  —  somebody 


40    THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

from  North  Ca'liny,  or  the  Lord  knows  whar.  I  mus'  hev 
seen  ye  agin  an'  agin,  'ceptin'  I  jes'  don't  take  much  notice 
o'  young  folks,"  he  added,  in  a  staid,  middle-aged  manner. 
"Is'bel," — he  leaned  forward  and  addressed  the  child,  a 
tousled  headed,  barefooted,  wiry  little  lass  of  ten  or  twelve, 
who  had  been  listening  silently  and  staring  at  him,  — 
;'  what 's  yer  dad's  name  ?  " 

"  Eli  Strobe,"  piped  out  Isabel. 

"  Thar,  now !  "  he  exclaimed  triumphantly.  "  Eli  Strobe's 
cousin  married  my  half-brother,  an'  I  hev  got  ez  much  right 
ter  talk  'bout  courtin'  ez  enny  frequent  vis'tor." 

This  conclusive  logic  seemed  to  daunt  the  girl.  She  of 
fered  no  further  reproof,  and  there  was  a  sort  of  diffidence 
in  her  defeated  mien,  —  the  more  as  he  continued  :  "  I  be 
mighty  keerless  o'  who  air  in  this  worl' ;  my  interus'  air  in 
them  ez  hev  gone  afore.  'Pears  ter  me  thar  ain't  none 
lef '  like  'em  —  none  like  Sainson,  an'  Daniel,  an  G'liath." 

A  vague  solemnity  dawned  upon  her  face,  at  the  mention 
of  these  names.  She  sat  listening  in  brooding  silence,  her 
crystal-clear  eyes  on  his  face  as  he  talked. 

"  I  wisht  I  hed  lived  in  them  days,  herdin'  sheep,  or  suth- 
in',"  he  added. 

"  Ye  M  be  dead  now,"  she  remonstrated. 

"  Air  ye  one  o'  them  ez  cling  ter  this  mortial  life  ?  "  he 
demanded,  in  rebuke.  "  It 's  jes'  a  span,  a  breath,  a  mist 
fur  the  wind  ter  scatter." 

"  Waal,  it  be  powerful  comfort'ble  whilst  it  lasts,"  she 
argued. 

He  glanced  at  her  and  shook  his  head,  and  then  relapsed 
into  silence.  The  continuous  rain  was  now  glimpsed  through 
the  mist,  and  again  sounded  dully  from  out  the  invisibilities 
of  the  vapors.  Its  monody  accented  the  increasing  chill  of 
the  air.  A  broad  flicker  of  lightning,  diffused  through  all 
the  fine  gray  lines,  showed  the  distant  looming  mountains 
and  cliffs  without,  and  illumined  her  pensive  face. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  he  declared,  shifting  his  position,  his  stalwart 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.         41 

figure  tense  and  alert,  "  none  like  'em  now.  I  could  n't 
holp  thinkin',  whenst  I  war  a  witness  in  the  court  down 
yander  in  Glaston,  what  pore  shakes  that  thar  jedge  war 
compared  ter  Sol'mon.  Sol'mon,  now,  would  hev  put 
Jake  Haintree  through,  —  he  'd  hev  fund  out  a  way  tev  fix 
his  guilt  on  the  sinner.  'Member  the  time,"  he  cried  viva 
ciously,  "  Sol'mon  hed  ter  jedge  'twixt  them  two  wimmin  ez 
claimed  one  hahy  ?  " 

She  nodded  doubtfully.  The  event  was  not  to  her  in  the 
nature  of  a  reminiscence. 

"  Lord  I  "  he  exclaimed  excitedly.  "  I  war  afeard  fur 
about  three  minits  ez  that  thar  leetle  critter  would  git  cut  in 
half  !  I  never  war  so  all-fired  skeered." 

He  fell  into  silence,  revolving  in  his  mind  the  animation 
of  the  scene,  —  the  splendid  hall  in  which  the  kingly  judge 
pronounced  sentence,  the  crowds  of  soldiers  and  priests,  the 
tumult  of  applause  at  this  vindication  of  his  wisdom,  this 
brilliant  exploit  of  his  administrative  genius. 

How  the  spectacle  allured  the  mountaineer !  How  vacant 
the  modern  voids ! 

Once  more  he  stirred  and  sig'hed. 

"  Yer  dad 's  runnin'  a^in  fur  constable,"  he  said,  a  trifle 
wistfully ;  to  such  interests,  forsooth,  he  must  turn. 

There  came  a  shade  of  anxiety  into  her  face. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  she  replied,  the  title  a  tribute  to  his  arroga- 
tions  of  seniority  and  to  his  piety,  of  a  strange  quality 
though  she  felt  it  to  be.  She  took  one  of  the  ears  of  the 
old  hound  in  her  fingers  and  pleated  it,  as  she  looked  con 
sciously  away.  The  sleeping  dog,  vaguely  discommoded, 
now  and  again  lifted  his  head  with  a  vigorous  shake,  and 
then  dropped  it. 

The  face  of  Isabel  suddenly  seemed  less  youthful.  It 
too  bore  that  anxiety  so  troublous  and  pathetic  in  women 
and  children  when  they  can  only  suffer,  and  cannot  help. 
"  They  think  Eli  ain't  goin'  ter  be  'lected  agin,"  he  said 
sagely  to  himself.  "  Suthin'  's  bruk." 


42          THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE. 

"  Waal,  Eli 's  a  mighty  good  man,"  he  observed  aloud, 
his  kindlier  impulses  uppermost.  **  He  's  apt  ter  do  his 
best,  an'  that 's  all  the  fur  we  kin  go  in  this  life.  He  stayed 
up  on  the  mounting  along  o'  we-uns  one  night,  not  long  ago, 
an'  he  bruk  the  lonesomeness  astonishin'." 

The  face  of  the  elder  sister  was  suddenly  irradiated  ;  a 
triumph  was  in  her  eyes  all  tenderly  shining. 

"  Dad  air  a  mos'  survigrous  talker,  sure,"  she  assented 
warmly.  "  Dad  air  powerful  good  comp'ny.  'T  ain't  often 
dad  ain't  got  suthin'  ter  say.  I  tell  ye,  it  air  wuth  while 
ter  stop  an'  cock  yer  ears,  whenst  dad  begins  ter  talk.  Dad 
air  ekal  ter  enny  pa'son,  ef  the  truth  war  knowed,  ain't  he, 
Is'bel  ?  " 

Isabel  seemed  almost  profane  in  the  eager  precipitancy 
of  her  assent.  But  it.  was  only  "  Laws-a-massy,  yes  !  "  that 
she  said  with  so  emphatic  an  accent.  The  child's  face  had 
flushed  beneath  its  freckles.  She  sat  upright,  bending 
steadily  on  Jepson  her  concentrated  gaze,  its  intensity  re 
doubled  in  effect  by  the  very  close  juxtaposition  of  her 
small,  piercing  dark  eyes. 

"  That 's  a  fac'."  Teck  joined  the  laudations,  their  ebul 
lition  of  enthusiasm  proving  infectious.  "  Eli 's  a  smart 
man,  an'  a  good  man,  too." 

"  So  good  ter  us  chillen  !  "  cried  the  elder  girl,  her  eyes 
alight,  —  "  me  an'  Is'bel ;  ain't  he,  Is'bel  ?  " 

"  Laws-a-massy,  yes !  "  Isabel  once  more  seemed  to 
swiftly  take  her  oath  upon  it. 

"Why,  ef  ennything  goes  wrong  thar  at  home,  —  the 
cow  gits  inter  the  corn,  or  the  gate  swags  off'n  the  henges, 
—  an'  dad  gits  ter  ragin'  'bout'n  it,  they  hev  jes'  got  ter 
say,  '  'T  was  Is'bel  an'  Marcelly  lef '  the  bars  down,'  or  '  The 
gals  war  a-swingin'  on  the  gate.'  An'  like  ez  not  we  bed  n't 
been  a-nigh  thar.  An'  dad,  he  jes'  cools  down  ez  quick. 
'  'T  war  them  leetle  darters,  war  it  ?  Waal,'  "  imitating 
Strobe's  slow  bovine  glance,  "  '  't  ain't  goin'  ter  'sturb  me  !  ' 
But  ef  it  hed  been  ennybody  else,  though ! "  The  elder 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.         43 

sister  shook  her  head  in  a  way  that  promised  amplest  retri 
bution,  and  laughed  again. 

"  Yer  name  's  Marcelly,  air  it  ?  "  Teck  Jepson  said  pon- 
deringly. 

"  Done  fund  that  out,  hev  ye  ?  "  she  exclaimed.  Then, 
with  a  swift  transition  back  to  the  paternal  perfections,  she 
continued,  "  Dad  's  a  tremenjious  scholar,  —  kin  read  an' 
write  s'prisin'.  Dad  's  been  ter  school,  I  tell  ye,  an'  what 
he  larnt  thar  war  n't  how  ter  ketch  grasshoppers.  Dad's 
the  bes'  shot  in  Brumsaidge  Cove.  Nobody  kin  shoot  agin 
dad,  though,  bein'  constable,"  —  her  voice  fell  with  the  se- 
dateness  of  her  logic,  —  u  he  ain't  gin  over  ter  shootin'- 
matches,  like  he  war.  An'  dad  kin  arrest  ennybody"  she 
declared  sweepingly,  "  bein'  constable.  The  sher'ff  ain't 
got  no  mo'  power  over  folks,  sca'cely." 

"  An'  dad  'lows  the  sher'ff  be  made  out'n  dough,  besides," 
said  Isabel  suddenly.  u  Dad  say  a  biscuit  hev  got  ez  much 
backbone  ez  that  thar  sher'ff." 

Her  sister  flashed  a  warning  glance  at  her.  Then  Mar- 
cella's  own  bright  face  fell.  "  I  reckon  that 's  one  reason 
he  hev  got  a  better  chance  o'  bein'  'lected  agin  than  dad 
hev.  Some  folks  'low  ez  dad  hev  set  too  much  store  by  the 
law,"  she  observed,  lowering  her  voice,  and  allured  into  a 
confidential  mood  by  Jepson's  apparent  appreciation  of 
"  dad."  "  Some  say  ez  dad  hev  whetted  the  law's  scythe 
powerful  sharp,  whilst  his  own  hev  been  lef '  ter  rust.  He 
hev  been  mo'  tuk  up  with  seem'  arter  the  law,  than  gittin' 
'lected  agin,  an' — an'" — she  hesitated — "folks  air  agin 
him,  an'  bound  ter  git  him  beat." 

Isabel  fixed  an  eager  electioneering  gaze  on  Jepson's 
face.  "  Do  you-uns  vote  down  in  Brumsaidge  ?  "  she  inter 
rogated  him. 

u  I  kin  vote  fur  him  —  ef  I  wants  ter,"  he  said,  a  trifle 
waggishly.  "  But  I  ain't  a-goin'  ter  let  ye  buy  iny  vote,  so 
ye  need  n't  try." 

"  I  dunno  ez  I  be  a-tradin',"  said  Isabel  shortly. 


44    THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOM  SEDGE  COVE. 

"  Is'bel,  hush  up !  "  exclaimed  the  repressive  elder  sister, 
glancing  apprehensively  at  Jepson  to  note  the  effect  of  the 
child's  curt  speech. 

But  as  he  lounged  upon  the  ledges  of  the  rock,  his  head 
supported  on  his  hand,  he  was  looking  with  languid  good- 
humor  at  Isabel,  and  had  evidently  taken  no  offense. 

"  Dad  say  it  be  powerful  aggervatin'  ter  run  fur  office," 
resumed  Marcella.  "  He  say  he  don't  mind  sarvin'  the  peo 
ple,  —  that 's  mighty  easy,  fur  the  law  be  laid  down  plain, 
an'  he  sets  a  heap  o'  store  by  the  law  ;  but  it 's  a  powerful 
differ  ter  please  this  man  an'  not  git  that  one  set  catawampus, 
an'  mos'  of  'em  air  goin'  ter  be  middlin'  mad,  no  matter 
what  he  does  or  don't  do.  An'  he  say  sometimes  he  feels, 
whenst  he  be  axin'  'em  ter  vote  fur  him,  like  fly  in'  roun' 
an'  kickin'  'em  all  right  an'  lef,  an'  goin'  home  fur  good." 

"  Waal,  I  ain't  never  seen  no  candidate  fur  office  do  sech 
ez  that  yit,  an'  I  'd  be  powerful  glad  ef  I  war  'lowed  ter 
live  till  I  did  see  it,"  he  retorted,  the  sensibilities  of  the  suf 
frage  with  which  he  was  endowed  becoming  roused  at  the 
suggestion. 

She  looked  at  him  a  trifle  deprecatingly ;  then,  with  that 
daring  impulse  which  often  furnishes  a  false  step  with  stum 
bling  sequelae,  she  pursued  the  subject :  "  Granny  'lows  it 
fairly  sets  her  teeth  on  aidge  ter  hear  me  a-honin'  an' 
a-moanin'  'bout  the  'lection,  an'  dad's  chances,  an'  voters, 
an'  the  office,  an'  sech.  An'  she  say  't  ain't  nowise  perlite 
an'  sensible  for  wimmin-folks  ter  spen'  thar  time  in  sech  ez 
they  ain't  got  no  business  in.  I  can't  holp  dad  nor  hender. 
But  I  jes'  feel  like  ez  ef  I  could  take  a  rifle  an'  stan'  at  the 
polls,  an'  shoot  down  them  ez  don't  vote  fur  dad  !  "  Her 
eyes  flashed,  albeit  she  looked  half  laughing  at  him. 
"  'T  other  night  thar  war  a  man  at  our  house  ez  don't  b'long 
somehows  ter  dad's  party." 

"  Which  party  ?  "  demanded  Jepson,  smiling. 

"  Dunno.  Dad's.  An'  this  man,  he  said  :  *  I  be  pow 
erful  sorry  I  can't  vote  fur  ye,  Eli,  kase  ye  air  on  the  t'  other 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.         45 

side.'  An'  dad  he  say,  ez  slow  an'  onconsarned,  *  Don't 
vote  fur  me,  ef  ye  'd  ruther  not.  It  ain't  goin'  ter  kill  me 
ter  git  beat.'  An'  I  jes'  spoke  up,  an'  I  say,  *  Naw,  it  air 
goin'  ter  kill  me  !  ' ; 

"  Ye  look  toler'ble  live  yit,"  commented  Teck  Jepson. 

"  Granny  'lowed  she  war  so  'shamed  o'  me,  she  could  hev 
made  soup  out'n  me,  or  minch  meat,  ez  onconsarned  ez  ef 
I  'd  been  a  Shanghai." 

••  AVhat  did  Eli  say?" 

"  Oh,  nuthin'.  Dad  'lows  ez  everything  I  do  air  right 
an'  jes'  so  —  me  an'  Is'bel,  don't  he,  Is'bel  ?  " 

"  Laws-a-massy,  yes,"  Isabel  affirmed,  without  hesitation. 

The  rain  was  gradually  subsiding.  One  could  see  beyond 
the  jagged  roof  of  the  niche,  far  across  the  valley,  the  gray 
lines  sparsely  falling  with  a  free  motion  and  an  effect  of 
vast  lengths,  reaching  as  they  did  to  the  zenith.  The  dreary 
mists  were  gathering  themselves  together  to  coalesce  in 
some  uncomprehended  symmetry  of  vaporous  form,  and  in 
silent  march  were  betaking  themselves  thence  with  reluc 
tant  and  exiled  mien.  Dissimilar,  as  of  a  different  texture 
and  an  alien  origin,  was  the  vague  gray  haze,  hardly  dis 
cernible,  rising  from  the  dank  earth,  and  suspended  only 
a  few  feet  above.  Suddenly  the  sun  smote  it,  and  how  it 
glistened,  now  amethystine,  now  pearly,  now  a  gilded  gauze  ! 
The  wooded  mountain-side  was  splendidly  green  again,  at 
testing  that  the  rich,  ripe  August  was  still  straying  along 
the  slopes.  A  sense  of  renewal,  revivification,  was  in  the 
silver-shotted  misty  intervals.  The  moist  leaves,  glossy  and 
emerald,  stirred  in  the  air.  Every  blade  of  grass  about  the 
portal  of  the  grotto  wore  globular  gauds,  as  the  raindrops 
caught  the  light  where  they  swung.  A  quail  called  and 
called  down  the  wet,  briery  tangles,  —  sweet  vibrant  tones  ! 
And  all  at  once,  that  splendid  apotheosis  of  color,  that 
supreme  triumph  of  light,  the  rainbow,  was  set  in  the 
clouds.  How  far  it  reached,  —  how  far !  —  from  sombre 
Chilhowee  to  the  Great  Smoky  Mountains,  —  and  the  vast 


46          THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE. 

landscape  beneath  was  spanned  by  the  glowing  arch.  And 
now  it  was  dimmed,  as  the  light  fluctuated,  and  again  it 
glowed  in  pristine  brilliancy  and  softness ;  for  albeit  the 
rain  still  fell,  the  sun  shone. 

Teck  Jepson  watched  the  change  with  meditative  eyes. 
The  old  dog  took  note  of  it,  too,  yawning  with  an  expan 
sive  expression,  and  coming  down  off  the  ledges,  dragging 
one  slow  foot  after  the  other.  He  sat  down  on  the  wet 
grass,  heedless  of  the  drops  that  fell  upon  him,  and  gazed 
gravely  about  as  if  he  appreciated  the  scenery. 

"  Look  at  old  Watch,  now,"  commented  Isabel.  "  Arter 
takin'  so  much  trouble  ter  keep  hisself  dry  an'  out'n  the 
storm,  he  air  goin'  ter  git  ez  wet  ez  ef  he  lied  been  in  the 
thick  of  it.  Ain't  that  jes'  percisely  like  a  dog  !  " 

"  Waal,  Watch  ain't  got  no  call  ter  be  like  nuthin'  else." 
Marcella  spoke  absently,  hardly  heeding  what  she  said,  only 
mechanically  defending  her  canine  friend.  She  was  leaning 
back  amongst  the  vines  that  hung  down  dry  and  even  a 
trifle  dusty  within  the  rift,  and  trembled  above  her  head  and 
rested  on  her  shoulder.  Her  eyes  seemed  to  share  the  pen 
sive  brilliance  of  the  hour,  so  full  of  a  dreaming  light,  so 
softly  shadowed  by  the  melancholy  droop  of  the  long  lashes, 
they  were,  as  she  looked,  unseeing,  into  the  illuminated  sun 
set,  through  the  soft  falling  of  the"  glittering  rain.  The 
spirited  pose  of  her  delicate  head  on  its  slender  throat  was 
hardly  less  marked,  in  this  moment  of  languor,  than  when 
held  alert  and  upright.  All  her  lithe  and  slender  figure  was 
relaxed,  as  she  leaned  back  in  the  bower  that  the  vines 
wove  for  her,  and  toyed  with  a  tendril  in  her  hand. 

Jepson  gazed  long  and  silently  at  her,  as  she  sat  there, 
wondering  again  that  he  should  never  before  have  seen  her. 
He  felt  now  as  if  they  had  often  met,  and  he  became  sensible 
of  the  repetitious  impression  in  a  sort  of  doubting  amaze 
ment.  Her  characteristics  he  seemed  to  have  long  ago 
conned.  He  was  prepared  for  every  turn  of  her  alert  head, 
every  sudden  uplifting  of  her  definite  arrogant  eyebrows 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.    47 

above  those  soft  eyes.  He  even  felt  a  fostering  familiar 
regard  for  the  wish  nearest  her  heart,  and  in  the  fullness  of 
a  warm  partisan  impulse  he  abruptly  spoke :  — 

"•  I  '11  tell  ye  right  now  what 's  doin'  Eli  mo'  harm  with 
the  voters  o'  the  deestric'  'n  ennythin'  else.  It 's  this  hyar 
everlastin'  uphold  in'  o'  Jake  Bain  tree." 

"  It 's  the  law  's  upholdin'  Jake  Baintree  !  "  said  Marcella 
quickly. 

The  dream-light  had  fled  from  her  face ;  she  looked  at 
him  with  a  shifting  spark  deep  in  her  clear  eyes,  betokening 
a  disquieted  spirit  and  a  touch  of  anger. 

He  changed  his  attitude,  and  glanced  out  over  the  land 
scape.  "  I  never  expect  ter  spend  my  time  argufyin'  with 
enny  gal-folks,"  he  said  in  an  offhand  way,  and  with  a 
laughing  sneer.  "  But  ye  kin  set  it  down,  ef  ye  air  minded 
ter.  Yer  dad  's  cavortin'  roun'  an'  upholdin'  Jake  Baintree, 
kase  this  leetle  old  yearthly  jedge  down  yander  did  n't  hev 
sense  enough  or  law  enough  ter  fix  his  sin  on  him,  air  a-goin' 
ter  defeat  Eli,  —  besides  all  else  folks  hev  got  agin  him. 
Ye  mark  my  words." 

"  Waal,  I  dunno  but  they  hed  ez  soon  take  the  jedge's 
say-so  ez  yourn." 

She  resembled  her  father,  when  she  gave  herself  to  argu 
ment  ;  the  slow,  calculating  glance  that  she  bent  upon  Jep- 
son.  as  she  turned  her  head,  was  singularly  like  the  look  she 
sometimes  mimicked. 

u  I  ain't  a-settin'  up  my  say-so  agin  the  jedge's,"  he 
responded,  quickly.  '*  It 's  the  fac's.  He  can't  git  around 
'em.  An'  Eli  can't  git  around  'em.  An'  the  folks  in  the 
rfeestric'  can't  git  around  'em.  The  storm  will  burst  some 
day,  though.  The  Lord  will  repay." 

There  was  an  anxious  flush  on  her  usually  pale  face.  Her 
eyes  were  bright  and  restless.  The  irritation  of  not  being 
able  to  reconcile  her  father's  opinions  with  the  prospect  of 
success  was  smouldering  in  her  manner,  and  suddenly  flamed 
out  in  words. 


48          THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOM  SEDGE   COVE. 

"  From  all  I  hev  seen,  ye  air  likely  ter  take  the  Lord's 
jobs  off' n  his  hands.  He  need  n't  bother  'bout  repayin'  no 
body  in  Brurnsaidge,  whar  sech  a  headin'  man  ez  ye  air  be 
a-loose.  Ye  '11  repay.  Ye  would  n't  let  Jake  Baintree  git 
baptized,  kase  ye  'low  he  killed  a  man  ez  the  jury  say  he 
did  n't  kill,  an  'kase  ye  fund  somebody's  old  clothes  hid  some- 
whar.  Mebbe  he  '11  never  git  ter  the  baptizin'  p'int  agin. 
He  can't  get  the  sperit  whenst  he  wants  it ;  he  can't  whistle 
it  back  like  a  dog  that  follows  him." 

"  Ef  he  ever  lied  the  sperit  no  man  kin  harm  him.  Did 
he  gin  Sam'l  Keale  time  ter  think  on  salvation  ?  Ez  the  Lord 
bade  me,  so  I  did  act,"  he  protested. 

She  relapsed  into  silence. 

"  Jake  Baintree  be  plumb  cur'ous,"  said  Isabel,  knitting 
her  brows,  and  laughing,  —  a  constrained  demonstration  that 
had  no  mirth  in  it.  She  had  wearied  of  the  discussion, 
which  she  scarcely  understood,  and  resorted  with  a  fresh 
ened  zest  to  gossip. 

u  How  be  he  cur'ous  ?  "  demanded  Jepson. 

"  Waal,"  said  Isabel,  twisting  the  corner  of  her  apron  in 
and  out  of  her  fingers,  "  he  looks  cur'ous.  An'  he  sets  an' 
stare-gazes  an'  stare-gazes  the  fire.  An'  he  kin  read  an' 
write.  He  larnt  in  jail.  An'  his  folks  dunno  what  ter 
make  o'  him,  nohow.  He  don't  talk  none,  sca'cely.  They 
'low  he  war  jes'  a  boy  whenst  he  went  away,  an'  now  he  be  a 
plumb  differ,  ez  ef  he  war  somebody  else.  Mebbe  he  air 
somebody  else."  Isabel  paused,  with  a  contortion  of  the 
countenance,  showing  all  her  jagged  teeth,  as  if  she  sought 
to  express  in  some  facial  way  the  extreme  curiousness  of 
Jake  Baintree. 

"  How  do  ye  know  so  much  about  him  ?  "  demanded 
Jepson,  surprised. 

"  Marcelly,  she  useter  go  thar  a  heap,  an'  I  jes'  up  an'  go 
with  Marcelly.  Marcelly,  she  useter  tote  'em  things,  whenst 
they  war  so  powerful  pore  an'  tormented  how  ter  git  along, 
—  roastm'-ears  an'  'taters,  —  and  helped  'em  weave  some. 
She  war  holpin'  'em  weave  whenst  he  kem  home." 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.    49 

A  sudden  repulsion  seized  Teck  Jepson.  "  He  ain't  the 
frequent  vis'tor  ?  "  he  exclaimed. 

Marcella  drew  back,  with  an  abrupt  cry.  "  Jake  Bain- 
tree  !  ''  she  said  in  horror. 

There  was  a  moment  of  embarrassment.  He  had  his 
regrets  that  he  had  spoken,  and  she  had  hers  that  she  had 
answered.  With  a  woman's  tact,  she  would  have  passed  it 
by.  But  he  made  a  blundering,  clumsy  attempt  to  better 
the  situation,  and  asked,  with  a  feint  of  mirth,  "  Who  be 
that  thar  frequent  vis'tor,  ennyhows  ?  " 

"  Ye  kin  hev  that  fur  a  riddle,"  she  said,  with  a  chilly 
accent.  She  glanced  loftily  past  him,  as  she  rose.  *•  Kem 
'long,  Is'bel;  it 's  quit  rainin',  an'  we  hed  better  be  a-startin'." 

She  stood  for  a  moment,  tall,  fair,  erect,  under  the  rugged 
arch,  which  was  massively  imposed  upon  the  clearing  sky. 
A  red  suffusion  of  light  was  over  the  valley.  The  moun 
tains  were  darkling  and  purple.  An  inexpressible  sense  of 
freshness  blended  with  the  eventide  languors.  All  the 
woods  were  vibrant  with  the  ceaseless  chirr  of  the  cicada, 
and  the  antiphonal  chanting  of  frogj  rose  and  fell  by  the 
water-side.  Pensiveness  pervaded  the  hour,  and  melancholy. 
Far-away  cattle,  homeward  bound,  were  lowing  and  clank 
ing  their  mellow  bells.  And  the  misty  air  ministered  to 
the  sun's  splendors,  and  bore  its  elongated  rays  far  into 
space  in  gorgeous  amplifications.  The  ground  was  dank, 
and  Isabel's  bare  feet  pattered  along  with  a  noisy  sound, 
and  she  was  beset  with  forebodings. 

*•  I  '11  be  bound  the  foot-bredge  over  the  ruver  air  nigh 
under  water  by  this  time,  an'  I  aiivt  one  o'  the  swimmin* 
kiud,"  Isabel  observed  with  callow  pertness.  "  I  war  n't 
raised  ter  be  a  frawg." 

Jepson  had  hesitated  behind  the  two  girls.  Isabel's  words 
seemed  to  suggest  his  opportunity.  "  I  mought  ez  well 
g'loug  home  with  you-uns  ez  no,"  he  remarked.  "  'T  ain't 
out'n  my  way  none  ter  the  Settlemint,  an'  I  '11  holp  ye  over 
the  log." 


50          THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE. 

They  trudged  along  silently  through  the  forest,  with  its 
ceaseless  pulsations  of  sound  :  Isabel  in  the  van,  the  other 
two  walking  side  by  side,  and  the  dog  of  the  "  frequent  vis 
itor  "  following.  Sometimes  the  shadows  fell  on  Marcella's 
fair  face,  sometimes  the  roseate  glow  of  the  west ;  and  Jep- 
son  found  a  fascination  undreamed  of  before  in  noting  their 
fluctuations.  Her  expression  betokened  little  favor  toward 
him,  —  less,  perhaps,  than  he  realized.  He  had  never 
sought  the  approval  of  others,  and  disapproval  he  was  not 
quick  to  discern,  since  he  had  no  self-disparagement  to  keep 
his  fears  alert. 

Long  before  they  reached  the  river  they  heard  the  water 
roaring,  but  the  unhewn  log  that  served  as  foot-bridge, 
thrown  from  bank  to  bank,  was  not  yet  submerged,  and  the 
two  girls  walked  swiftly  and  lightly  across,  with  no  need 
of  assistance.  Suddenly  the  woods  gave  way,  and  Broom- 
sedge  Cove  lay  before  them,  vague  in  the  closing  dusk. 
Half  a  dozen  log  cabins  were  scattered  at  long  intervals,  — 
for  this  was  "the  Settlemint," — their  red  lights  growing 
distinct  since  the  day  had  so  waned.  The  sky  was  crimson 
above,  and  seemed  to  touch  the  gaunt,  black,  towering  moun 
tains  that  circled  close  about  the  sequestered  nook.  A  star 
was  gleaming  near  the  horizon.  Voices  rose  fitfully  and 
fell  to  silence,  and  all  was  mute  save  tor  the  nocturnal  song 
of  the  woods,  and  presently  a  few  strokes  of  an  axe  at  some 
wood-pile,  that  set  the  echoes  all  a-hewing. 

They  paused  beside  a  rail  fence  inclosing  one  of  the 
cabins,  where  the  flare  of  firelight  flickered  out  into  the  pas 
sage  between  the  two  rooms.  Marcella's  face  had  become 
only  a  vague  suggestion,  white  in  the  closing  dusk,  as  they 
stood  together  a  moment  at  the  gate.  For  she  had  spoken 
at  last,  offering  the  customary  invitation  to  come  in  and  stay 
to  supper. 

"  I  mus'  be  a-travelin'  up  the  mounting,"  he  drawled  in 
response.  Then  he  hesitated.  "  This  air  the  fust  time  I 
ever  seen  ye,  but  I  reckon  't  won't  be  the  las'." 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE    51 

He  strode  off  then,  and  she  watched  him  as  he  went  with 
his  assured  gait  and  singularly  erect  pose.  A  deft,  swift  step 
he  had,  too,  and  she  was  presently  gazing  into  the  closing 
obscurity  where  he  had  disappeared. 

"  I  'd  jes'  ez  lief  't  would  be  the  las',"  she  said  to  herself, 
—  «  I  'd  jes'  ez  lief." 


IV. 

LOCKED  in  the  stony  grasp  of  the  mountains  was  Broom- 
sedge  Cove.  Rugged  with  sudden  deep  depressions  and 
abrupt  declivities,  heavily  wooded  here  and  anon  broken  by 
crags  and  defying  cultivation,  this  limited  basin  was  all  un 
like  the  neighboring  coves,  those  fair  nooks  of  the  ranges, 
fertile  and  smiling,  and  level  as  a  floor.  The  road,  dry  in 
summer,  was  the  bed  of  a  stream  in  winter,  and  the  deni 
zens  of  Broomsedge  then  cared  little  to  rove  abroad.  Cer 
tain  stretches  of  abandoned  land,  once  cultivated,  had  given 
the  place  its  name,  and  down  their  slopes  flourished  the 
graceless  broomsedge,  —  pest,  poverty -bitten,  blight.  It 
seemed  to  seek  the  manner  of  the  worthier  growths,  to  bear 
itself  like  wheat,  or  rye,  or  oats  ;  it  wore. the  semblance  of 
a  crop,  as  it  shared  with  them  the  bounty  of  the  sun  and 
the  benediction  of  the  rain.  It  waved  in  the  wind,  half 
defiant,  half  forlorn.  Wherever  it  encroached  upon  the 
fields,  the  grace  of  utility  and  the  guerdon  of  labor  were 
gone,  and  this  flout  of  nature,  this  perversity  of  herbage, 
prospered  unwelcome  in  their  stead.  But  Broomsedge  Cove 
could  still  boast  a  considerable  acreage  of  grain,  fair  and 
thrifty  enough,  the  unripe  green  tint  contrasting  with  the 
red-brown  tones  of  the  sedge. 

By  daylight  the  Settlement  was  hardly  so  apparent  to  the 
casual  eye  as  at  night,  when  each  red  light  was  the  ex 
ponent  of  a  fireside.  The  houses,  some  of  them  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  apart,  nestling  amidst  their  orchards,  were  quite 
invisible  while  the  foliage  lasted.  The  inequalities  of  the 
ground  further  masked  the  extent  of  the  hamlet ;  occasion 
ally  a  blue  curl  of  smoke  from  beyond  a  jagged  hill  gave 
the  only  intimation  that  its  further  slopes  were  preempted 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.    53 

as  a  home.  The  blacksmith's  shop  was  on  the  extreme  out 
skirts,  beyond  the  fields  and  the  abandoned  spaces  where  the 
broomsedge  grew.  The  massive  wooded  mountain  rose 
close  behind  it ;  the  gorge  narrowed  just  beyond  it,  and  be 
tween  the  cliffs  a  stream,  with  a  swift  arrowy  motion,  and 
now  and  then  a  white  flash,  shot  down  the  steeps.  The 
smith  made  it  useful  in  his  simple  art,  and  its  song  was  a 
solace  to  his  idle  hours.  But  this  was  not  the  only  chant 
flung  forth  upon  the  air.  Loud  and  long  were  the  sounds 
of  revelry  often  issuing  from  the  forge,  and  in  a  diminuendo 
reaching  even  the  ears  of  the  far-away  neighbors,  who 
thanked  their  stars  that  they  were  no  nearer.  The  elders, 
constrained  alike  by  dignity  and  religion,  were  wont  to 
shake  their  heads,  and  sourly  marvel  what  could  be  going 
on  at  the  forge ;  and  the  younger  men  frequently  found 
themselves  obliged  to  go  over  at  once  and  investigate.  The 
forge  was  the  resort  of  certain  hilarious  spirits,  among 
whom  the  smith  himself  was  chief.  Concerning  these  rois 
terers  grim  reports  were  bruited  abroad.  It  was  averred 
that  a  greasy  pack  of  "  playin'-kyerds  "  was  cherished  there, 
and  that  a  "  streak  o'  luck  "  seemed  to  be  more  desired 
than  light  on  salvation.  A  jug  of  a  portly  grace  had  been 
descried,  one  day,  lurking  behind  the  elevated  hearth  of  the 
forge,  —  quite  empty,  it  is  true,  but  an  aroma  lingered 
about  its  corn-cob  stopper  that  was  fresh  and  strong  and 
unmistakable.  They  often  sang ;  the  blacksmith's  burly 
bass  voice  could  be  heard  with  the  supplementing  echoes 
over  many  a  furlong  of  his  native  wilds.  They  pitched 
horse-shoes  in  lieu  of  "  quates,"  and  wrestled  and  measured 
their  strength  in  many  good-humored  combats.  When  the 
great  barn-like  doors  were  open  and  the  forge  fire  flickered 
out  into  the  night,  the  place  under  the  overhanging  ledge 
of  the  mountain  was  like  the  mouth  of  some  vast  cavern. 
To  those  chancing  to  look  in  from  the  glooms  without, 
while  the  white  light  fell  here  and  there  in  a  brilliant  gleam 
upon  the  faces  within,  and  anon  fluctuated,  and  then  sank  to 


54          TEE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

a  red  glow,  and  so  to  darkness,  the  hearty  mortal  fellows  at 
their  turbulent  sports  were  vaguely  unfamiliar,  and  as  un 
canny  as  goblins,  or  gnomes,  or  troglodytes.  And  the  Set 
tlement  seemed  wise  in  wishing  them  no  nearer. 

It  was  a  weird  and  isolated  place,  and  with  these  im 
pressions  astir  about  it,  there  was  little  wonder  that  a  wilder 
fantasy  should  presently  gain  a  circulation. 

Teck  Jepson  heard  it  for  the  first  time  one  momentous 
August  day.  As  he  rode  slowly  along  the  circuitous  ways 
of  Broomsedge  Cove  he  was  conscious  that  he  surveyed  the 
scene  with  an  interest  which  it  had  never  before  elicited. 
The  porch  of  Kli  Strobe's  cabin  was  vacant,  but  as  he  dis 
mounted  from  his  horse,  and  hitched  him  to  the  rack  beside 
the  door  of  the  blacksmith's  shop,  he  glanced  from  time  to 
time  across  the  fields  at  the  house.  The  hop  and  gourd 
vines  hung  motionless  about  it,  for  no  wind  stirred. 
Through  their  screen  his  sharp  eyes  descried  a  spinning- 
wheel  —  idle  and  motionless.  No  face  at  the  tiny  window, 
no  flutter  of  a  blue  dress  among  the  poultry  in  the  door- 
yard.  The  place  might  have  seemed  deserted  save  for  the 
tendril  of  smoke  slowly  curling  out  of  the  clay  and  stick 
chimney,  and  the  dog  of  the  "  frequent  visitor,"  standing  in 
the  door,  wagging  his  tail,  which  he  had  a  call  to  do,  Teck 
remembered,  being  "  purty  well  treated."  He  momentarily 
canvassed  the  dwellers  on  and  about  Chilhowee  with  a  vague 
desire  to  identify  the  owner,  but  the  dog  in  no  respect  re 
sembled  his  master,  and  Teck's  musings  were  vain.  Then 
he  turned  away,  and  sat  clown  upon  a  log  beside  the  black 
smith's  shop,  and  silently  gazed  at  the  blue  mountains, 
against  which,  in  an  oblique  line,  the  roof  of  Strobe's  cabin 
was  drawn. 

There  were  half  a  dozen  men  lounging  about  the  forge, 
for  it  was  seldom  that  Clem  Sanders  was  alone  ;  and  besides 
his  special  cronies,  the  mountain  gossips  were  wont  to  con 
gregate  here.  The  forge  was  silent ;  the  smith  himself  was 
leaning  against  the  anvil,  his  brawny  arms  folded  across  his 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.         55 

chest,  his  pipe  between  his  teeth,  his  languid  eyes  fixed  on 
the  majestic  mountains  without,  dome  on  dome  and  range 
on  range,  stretching  far  away  into  the  distance ;  while  be 
low,  the  sunlit  valley  smiled,  with  only  the  shadow  of  a  fly 
ing  bird  or  an  uncertain  mist,  vague  and  vagrant,  to  mar 
the  sheen.  He  was  a  tall,  bluff  fellow,  with  reddish  brown 
hair,  straight  dark  eyebrows,  and  a  broad  low  forehead.  He 
had  many  wrinkles  in  the  corners  of  his  eyes  ;  not  from 
age,  for  he«was  only  some  twenty-four  or  five,  but  from  per 
sistent  twinkling.  They  were  brown  eyes  and  bright  ones, 
not  large,  but  long  and  narrow.  He  had  a  square  face  and 
a  flexible  mouth  with  merry  curves,  the  better  revealed 
since  he  wore  no  beard.  His  checked  homespun  shirt  was 
open  at  his  throat ;  the  sleeve  was  rolled  up,  showing  his 
great  hammer-arm  ;  its  muscles  were  a  source  of  perpetual 
pride  to  its  possessor. 

He  took  little  part  in  the  conversation,  the  twinkling 
wrinkles  about  his  eyes  expressing  his  interest  when  it 
waxed  facetious.  Eli  Strobe  was  leaning  back  against  the 
door  in  a  rickety  chair  ;  two  men  who  were  sitting  on  the 
log  moved  slightly,  to  give  Jepson  more  room.  A  tall,  slim, 
jeans-clad  young  mountaineer,  booted  to  the  knee  and  ac 
coutred  with  shot-pouch  and  powder-horn,  and  having  long 
light  hair  showing  a  tendency  to  tousled  ringlets,  lay  at 
length  on  the  grass  outside  of  the  door. 

"  Howdy,"  said  Jepson,  succinctly  and  comprehensively, 
to  the  group.  Then  suddenly  addressing  the  two  men  on 
the  log,  u  I  seen  ye  two  bucks  thar  on  yer  hoss-critters,  at 
the  baptizin'.  Ye  hain't  got  no  right  ter  mighty  nigh  ride 
down  the  saints  that-a-way,  'mongst  the  congregation,  an1  ef 
I  lied  noticed  in  time  I  'd  hev  made  ye  'light  an'  hitch." 

There  was  a  momentary  hesitation.  Then  one  of  them, 
Gideon  Dake,  a  languid,  lank,  loose-jointed  fellow,  observed, 
with  as  little  animation  as  if  he  were  an  automaton,  "  Oh, 
shet  up,  Teck !  Ye  air  too  robustious.  Ye  low  ter  fairly 
rule  the  Cove  !  " 


56         THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE. 

The  other,  Joe  Bassett,  spoke  more  briskly.  "  I  ain't 
afeard  ter  be  a  sorter  sinner,  now,  Teck.  The  devil 's  got 
his  hands  so  full  a-lookin'  arter  Clem  Sanders  hyar  ez  he 
ain't  goin'  ter  stop  jes'  fur  me.  Hev  ye  hearn  ez  he  war 
viewed  right  hyar  in  the  forge  ?  " 

"Shucks!"  said  Jepson,  incredulously.  Then  leaning 
forward  to  look  at  the  burly  blacksmith  within  the  shop, 
"  That  ain't  a  true  word,  air  it,  Clem  ?  " 

"  Dunno,"  said  the  blacksmith  cavalierly.  *  Let  them 
say  ez  seen  him." 

"  Ef  I  do  ride  down  the  saints,  I  ain't  never  hed  Satan 
ter  kem  a-bulgin'  ter  the  Settlemint  ter  look  arter  me,"  pro 
tested  Bassett. 

Jepson  glanced  about  him  doubtfully.  "  Who  say  they 
seen  him  ?  " 

"  Old  Pa'son  Donnard,"  said  Bassett,  beginning  to  nar 
rate  the  old  story  to  a  new  listener  with  a  relish  propor 
tionate  to  the  rarity  of  the  opportunity.  "  Old  man  war 
comin'  from  Piomingo  Cove,  whar  he  hed  hed  preachin'  the 
day  before.  'T  war  toler'ble  late.  Thar  war  n't  no  moon, 
an'  the  dark,  it  overtuk  him.  Waal,  sir,  he  kem  nigh  hyar 
along  o'  the  water-side.  An5  he  say  all  of  a  suddint  he 
seen  this  blacksmith  shop  like  a  yawnin'  mouth  o'  hell,  ez 
ef  the  mounting  hed  opened.  An'  the  flames  o'  the  forge 
fire,  they  le'pt  up,  an'  sunk  down,  an'  flared  out,  kase  Clem, 
he  'd  let  one  o'  them  fool  boys  caper  with  the  bellows.  An' 
pa'son,  he  see  two  o'  them  boys  a-wrastlin'  in  that  unholy 
light ;  an'  Jim  Crane  war  a-dancin'  an'  a-shufflin',  an' 
a-cuttin'  the  pidgeon-wing ;  an  Buck  Blake  war  a-playin'  a 
reg'lar  dancin'-chune  on  the  fiddle ;  an'  Clem  hyar  an'  Mose 
Hull  war  a-playin'  kyerds,  an'  a-bettin'.  Clem  war  a-settin' 
on  the  shoein'  stool,  an'  Mose  on  a  plow,  an'  they  laid 
thar  kyerds  on  the  top  o'  a  bar'l.  An'  Clem  war  a-beatin' 
Mose.  An'  wunst  in  a  while  he  'd  fling  back  his  head  an' 
holler,  bein'  so  glad  !  An'  suddint  Pa'son  Donnard  say 
his  eyes  war  opened.  He  seen  settin'  in  the  midst,  propped 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOVSEDGE  COVE.    57 

up  on  the  anvil,  Satan  hisself.  He  hed  horns,  an'  he  hed 
wings,  suthin'  like  a  bat's,  looked  sorter  bat-wise,  only  big 
ez  a  man.  An'  Pa'son  Donnard  say  he  kiiowed  't  war  Sa 
tan  even  before  he  tuk  notice  o'  his  feet,  —  one  war  a 
huff,  an'  the  t'other  war  a  club-foot !  An'  he  hed  'em  both 
propped  up  on  the  stump  what  the  anvil  sets  on.  An'  the 
devil  war  a-lookin'  over  Clem's  shoulder  at  sech  kyerds  ez 
Clem  held.  An'  when  Clem  would  beat,  Satan  would  jes' 
hug  hisself,  an'  rock  back'ards  an  for'ards,  an'  laff  till  his 
teeth  flashed  fire.  An'  sometimes  Satan  would  lean  over 
and  mighty  nigh  p'int  out  ter  Clem  which  kyerd  ter  play. 
An'  pa'son  say  his  eyes  war  opened  agin." 

"  'Pears  ter  me  they  war  stretched  toler'ble  wide  a-f  ust," 
grumbled  Clem.  Although  this  graphic  detail  was  no  news 
to  him,  he  was  beginning  to  look  much  disaffected.  He 
mechanically  moved  away  from  the  anvil  upon  which  Satan 
had  made  himself  so  much  at  home.  He  came  and  stood 
outside,  with  arms  still  folded,  leaning  against  the  door. 

"  An'  pa' son's  eyes  war  opened  anew,"  Bassett  drawled 
on.  "  An'  thar,  he  say,  whilst  the  wrastlin'  war  a-goin'  on, 
an'  the  dancer  war  a-dancin'  an'  a-shakin'  his  foot  all  around 
the  floor,  an'  the  fiddler  war  a-playin'  an'  the  fire  war  a-flar- 
in'  red  an'  a-flamm'  white  over  'em  all,  an'  Clem  war  a-laf- 
fin'  an'  a-hollerin',  tickled  ter  death,  an'  a-playin'  his 
kyerds,  an  Satan  war  a-lookin'  over  his  shoulder  an'  grin- 
nin'  till  the  smoke  shot  out'n  his  nose,  an'  eyes,  an'  ears, 
an'  ye  could  see  him  spit  fire  wunst  in  a  while,  the  back 
winder  o'  the  forge  opened  slow.  An'  thar  stood  on  the 
outside  —  who  d'  ye  reckon  ?  " 

"  Oh,  shucks !  "  said  Clem  uneasily. 

The  others  said  nothing,  and  the  narrator  went  on :  — 

"  The  back  winder  o'  the  shop  opened,  an'  thar,  holdin* 
the  batten  shutter  in  his  han',  plain,  —  it  bein'  so  dark 
a-hint  him  an'  so  light  inside,  —  war  Clem  hisself  !  Like 
he  mought  look  in  death,  white,  an'  solemn,  an'  stony, 
a-gazin'  in  on  hisself  ez  he  looks  in  life,  hearty,  an'  sun- 


58          THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE. 

burnt,  an'  laffin',  an'  a-playin'  o'  kyerds,  with  the  devil, 
tickled  ter  death,  peepin'  over  his  shoulder.  An'  pa'son 
say  the  bleached,  white,  dead  Clem  ketched  his  eye  of  a 
suddint,  an'  clap !  bang !  the  winder  war  shet,  an'  thar 
war  n't  nuthin'  settin'  on  the  anvil,  an'  Clem  war  a-gapin', 
an'  a-stretchin'  his  arms,  an'  sayin'  't  war  bed-time,  an' 
tellin'  that  Jeemes  boy  ter  quit  playin'  the  fool  with  that 
bellows,  else  he  'd  shoe  him  all  round  with  red-hot  horse 
shoes." 

Teck  Jepson  listened  in  silence,  his  absorbed  eyes  upon 
the  ground,  now  and  then  lifting  them  to  the  narrator's  face 
with  a  glance  of  excited  surprise. 

The  person  .most  nearly  interested  in  the  chronicle  spoke 
abruptly :  — 

"  Pa'son  Donnard  never  see  sech  ez  that,  sure  enough ; 
he  air  sorter  moon-eyed,  ef  the  truth  war  knowed.  An' 
ez  the  boys  war  a-dancin'  an'  a-cavortin',  he  jes'  'lowed  he 
see  it." 

"  Pa'son  Donnard  would  n't  be  the  fust,  ef  he  did  see  the 
devil,"  argued  Teck  Jepson.  "  Plenty  o'  them  the  Bible 
tells  about  seen  him." 

The  blacksmith's  eyes  had  no  merry  twinkle  in  them  now. 
He  looked  off  loweringly  at  the  scene,  so  familiar  to  him  in 
its  multitudinous  phases,  as  he  spoke. 

"  Waal,  I  don't  b'lieve  pa'son  see  nuthin'.  Satan  don't 
lope  round  in  Broomsaidge  none  ginerally ;  never  war  ceen 
afore.  Takes  pa'son  ter  view  him.  An'  I  ain't  dead,"  he 
added,  with  a  live  insistence.  "  An'  yit  he  seen  me  dead." 

"  Ye  will  be  some  day,"  said  Jepson  bluntly. 

Sanders  looked  down,  darkly  frowning. 

"Why  n't  he  take  somebody  else  ter  go  lookin'  inter  a 
winder  at  thar  dead  se'fs,  stiddier  me  ?  "  he  complained. 
"  I  ain't  the  only  mortial  man  in  the  Cove  !  I  jes'  did  n't 
know  fur  awhile  what  I  war  goin'  ter  do  'bout'n  it.  An'  at 
las'  I  went  up  ter  pa'son's  house,  an'  I  called  his  son  Jube 
out.  An'  I  say  ter  Jube,  '  Jube,  ye  an'  me  hev  been  power- 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.    59 

ful  frien'ly  since  we  useter  play  'longside  o'  one  another  in 
the  woodpile,  'fore  we  could  walk.  An'  I  hope  I  won't 
break  none  o'  yer  bones  ez  ye  can't  spare  or  git  the  doctor 
ter  set  agin  right  handy,  kase  I  'm  useter  hammerin'  tougher 
stuff  'n  ye  be.  But  I  'm  a-goin'  ter  take  yer  dad's  visions 
out  on  ye,  beiii'  ez  I  can't  thrash  a  old  man  an'  a  preacher. 
Ye  '11  see  mo'  sights  'n  ever  he  done." 

"  What  did  Jube  do?  "  asked  Jepson. 

A  dreary  sense  of  futility  was  expressed  in  the  strong 
man's  face. 

'*  Flun^  his  arm  around  my  neck,  an'  begged  an'  begged," 
he  said,  baffled.  "'  He  'lowed  his  dad  wanted  ter  break  up 
them  meetin's  at  the  forge,  —  gredges  we-uns  our  fun.  He 
never  war  young  hisself.  ye  know."  He  attempted  to  point 
the  weak  s-arcasm  with  a  sneer.  "  But  Jube  sneaks  off,  an' 
kerns  ter  the  forge  every  chance  he  gits.  He  war  thar  the 
night  o'  the  vision.  Old  man  war  so  bent  on  seein'  Satan, 
an'  dead  folks  ez  air  live  an'  hearty,  he  didn't  see  his  own 
son  Jube  'mongst  the  sinners.  An'  Jube  war  a-walkin' 
round  on  his  hands,  like  a  plumb  catamount,  with  his  heels 
six  feet  high  up  in  the  air,  a-wavin'  round." 

"  Mebbe  that  war  why  he  did  n't  see  Jube,  his  head  bein' 
so  nigh  the  groun',"  suggested  Jepson.  "  Jube  don't  giner- 
ally  kerry  his  heels  a-top  o'  him." 

The  blacksmith  listened,  but  made  no  response. 

"  I  told  Jube,"  he  resumed  presently,  "  I  'd  let  him  off, 
ef  his  dad  did  n't  put  me  in  none  o'  his  preachin'." 

"  Ev'ybody  in  Brumsaidge  an'  the  mountings  round 
knows  'bout'n  it,  ennyhow,"  said  Eli  Strobe.  "Ye  needn't 
be  so  powerful  partic'lar." 

"  Waal,  ennyhows,  't  would  in  an'  about  kill  me  ef  he 
war  ter  go  ter  blatin'  out  in  the  church-house,  'fore  all  the 
congregation,  'bout  the  devil  a-laffin'  at  me  whilst  playin' 
kyerds,  an'  me  dead,  lookin'  through  the  winder  at  my  live 
self.  Shucks !  " 

This  unique  slander  had  sunk  deep  into  Clem  Sanders's 


60    THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

good-natured  heart.  He  looked  so  harried  and  hopeless 
that  he  might  well  have  excited  sympathy,  but  the  circum 
stance  had  certain  grotesque  phases  which  Eli  Strobe  could 
not  fail  to  relish. 

"  Ye  hain't  done  no  work  sence  on  that  anvil,  hev  ye  ?  " 
he  demanded,  with  his  slow  side-glance  and  his  air  of  burly 
jocundity,  which  did  not  always  commend  itself  to  his  in 
terlocutor. 

The  blacksmith  shook  his  head. 

"  Waal,  sir,"  exclaimed  Eli,  bringing  his  tilted  chair  upon 
its  forelegs  with  an  abrupt  thump,  and  placing  a  hand  on 
either  knee,  "  ef  ye  an'  that  thar  striker  o'  yourn  gits  enny 
mo'  afeard  o'  that  thar  anvil  'n  ye  hev  always  been,  all  the 
critters  in  the  Cove  '11  be  bar'foot  'fore  long." 

"  Clem  's  jes'  a-purtendin',"  said  Gideon  Dake.  "  He 
war  a-workin'  night  afore  las'.  What  ails  ye  ter  be  sech 
a  liar,  Clem  ?  Ye  want  us  ter  gin  ye  the  credit  o'  bein' 
convicted  o'  sin  an'  acceptin'  o'  warnin's,  whenst  ye  air  jes' 
sodden  in  the  ways  o'  the  wrorl'." 

"  I  warn't  at  the  forge,  night  afore  las',''  said  the  black 
smith,  flustered  and  uncertain.  "  What  would  I  be  a-doin' 
of,  workin'  of  a  night  ?  I  ain't  kep'  busy  in  the  day,  let 
alone  bein'  obligated  ter  work  of  a  night." 

*'  I  dunno  what  ye  war  a-doin'  of,"  said  Dake,  altogether 
unaware  of  the  significance  of  his  disclosure.  "  I  know  the 
forge  fire  war  lighted,  an'  the  anvil  a-ringin',  an'  the  bel 
lows  a-blowin',  an'  the  hand-hammer  an'  sledge  a-strikin', 
fur  I  hearn  'em  'bout  midnight,  kase  I  war  obligated  ter  go 
arter  the  doctor  fur  granny,  ez  war  tuk  powerful  bad,  an' 
looked  like  ter  die." 

Sanders  gazed  at  the  speaker  in  blank  amazement  for  a 
moment.  Then  his  color  began  to  change.  He  grew  as 
pale  as  his  swarthy  tints  might  ever  blanch,  —  an  ashen 
pallor,  —  like  that  white  Thing,  perhaps,  which  Parson 
Donnard  had  beheld  gazing  into  the  window  at  its  hale  and 
full-pulsed  simulacrum.  Was  it  this  that  repaired  to  the 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.     ! 

forge  in  the  dead  of  the  night,  and  kindled  the  fires  and 
beat  out  that  metallic  melody,  as  familiar  to  him  as  the 
sound  of  his  own  voice  ? 

'•  Who  strikes  fur  me,  then,  I  wonder  ?  "  he  said  to  him 
self  ;  he  was  beginning  to  adopt  this  pallid,  and  joyless,  and 
solemn  identity.  A  sudden  recollection  of  the  malevolent 
presence  on  the  anvil,  a  suggestion  of  an  association  with 
him  as  striker,  and  all  at  once  Clem  gave  way.  '*  Move  up 
thar  on  that  log  !  "  he  cried,  as  he  sank  down  by  the  other 
men,  outside  of  the  forge  where  he  had  spent  all  his  days 
since  first  he  was  old  and  strong  enough  to  strike  for  his 
father,  succeeding  at  last  from  the  sledge  to  the  hand-ham 
mer,  which  the  elder  had  laid  down  forever.  He  had  never 
thought  to  shrink  from  its  very  walls,  to  glance  back  over 
his  shoulder  into  its  familiar  dusky  recesses,  and  wince  in 
prophetic  dread  of  what  he  might  chance  to  see.  His  heart 
beat  so  loud,  with  so  erratic  and  tumultuous  a  throb,  that 
he  wondered  the  other  men  did  not  hear,  did  not  notice 
his  agitation.  They  had  not  appreciated  the  significance 
of  this  testimony  to  him  who  had  been  asleep  at  home  on 
that  night  and  at  that  hour,  when  the  forge  fire  was  kindled 
in  the  midnight,  and  the  anvil  rang,  and  so  strange  an 
essence  as  that  pallid  identity  of  a  live  man  so  strangely 
busied  itself,  and  handled  his  tools,  and  aped  his  gestures, 
and  did  his  work.  "  Knows  jes'  whar  ter  find  things,  — 
hammer,  an'  nails,  an'  swage,  an'  tongs,  I  reckon."  The 
others  were  talking  of  trivial  matters.  How  could  they  ? 
he  wondered.  And  then  he  was  glad  that  they  could,  and 
that  they  noted,  him  not,  had  forgotten  him. 

An  old  dog  had  trotted  over  from  Eli  Strobe's,  —  the  dog 
which  Teck  Jepson  had  recognized  as  the  property  of  the 
"  frequent  visitor."  He  came  along  with  the  easy,  confident 
manner  appertaining  to  both  dogs  and  people  who  are  more 
highly  appreciated  than  they  deserve ;  for  he  was  not  use 
ful,  being  too  good-natured  for  a  watch-dog,  and  having  no 
particular  nose  for  game  and  no  compensating  energy  or 


62          THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOM  SEDGE   COVE, 

joy  in  its  pursuit,  and  he  was  by  no  means  comely.  His 
long  tongue  lolled  out,  his  eyes  looked  hot.  He  showed  no 
signs  of  recognition  of  any  of  'the  men,  but  sat  down  gravely 
in  front  of  them. 

"  I  b'lieve  that  thar  old  dog  hain't  got  no  owner,"  Jepson 
said  tentatively  to  Eli  Strobe,  with  a  craft  of  which  he  was 
ashamed.  "  Yer  darter  tole  me  the  t'other  day  't  war  n't 
hern." 

Eli  Strobe's  slow  side-glance  was  directed  toward  the 
long-haired  youth,  who  lay  at  length  on  the  grass,  and  who 
had  not  spoken.  "Andy's,"  he  said  curtly,  —  "Andy 
Longwood's." 

Jepson  felt  the  blood  mount  to  his  face.  So  this  was  the 
"  frequent  visitor,"  whose  name  she  would  not  speak ;  this 
was  the  riddle  she  had  left  him  to  guess,  —  this  long-haired, 
curly-pated  creature.  "  I  'd  shear  him  like  a  sheep,"  he 
said  contemptuously  to  himself. 

The  young  man,  at  the  sound  of  his  name,  turned  up 
ward  a  gentle,  placid  face.  "  Talkin'  ter  me  ?  "  he  drawled 
slowly. 

Eli  Strobe  gave  him  a  side-long  glower,  and  shook  his 
head. 

"  Sheep,  fur  true !  "  Jepson  thought,  scanning  his  mild 
countenance.  "  I  '11  be  bound  he  kin  say  '  Ba-a  !  '  :  He 
looked  with  an  easy  contempt  after  the  young  fellow,  as  he 
rose  and  strolled  away,  the  old  dog  at  his  heels.  "  Ef  enny- 
body  war  ter  take  a  notion  ter  Marcelly  Strobe,  he  need  n't 
mind  that  thar  leetle  chuckle -headed  Woolly."  Jepson 
watched  Andy  Longwood  take  his  way  toward  Eli  Strobe's 
cabin  without  one  qualm  of  distrust  or  displeasure.  This 
the  vaunted  "  frequent  visitor  "  ! 

So  strong  a  factor  is  jealousy  in  sentiment  at  this  stage 
that,  relieved  of  his  unacknowledged  apprehensions,  Jepson's 
sudden  assumption  that  he  had  only  a  sort  of  paternal  or 
fraternal  interest  in  Marcella,  equally  divided  with  the  cal 
low  Isabel,  was  altogether  sincere,  and  he  was  unaware  of 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.    C3 

those  subtle  mental  processes  by  which  he  was  self-deceived. 
He  produced  much  the  same  impression  upon  himself  that 
he  did  on  Eli  Strobe,  when  he  said  with  a  casual  smile, 
'•  He  's  a-danglin'  arter  Marcelly,  ain't  he  ?  " 

Eli  Strobe  sullenly  nodded.  "  He  mought  ez  well  dangle 
off,  too."  He  cast  an  authoritative  side-glance  at  Jepson, 
which  intimated  the  possibility  of  paternal  interference  in 
matters  of  the  heart.  "  Marcelly  ain't  sech  ez  ter  take  a 
likin'  ter  him,  but  somehows  she  can't  git  rid  o'  the  critter." 

"  I  hev  hearn,"  said  Joe  Bassett  animatedly,  "  ez  how 
Marcelly  and  Clem  "  —  the  blacksmith  had  strolled  off,  his 
hands  in  his  pockets,  his  hat  pulled  far  over  his  gloomy  fa^e 
—  "  hev  been  keepin'  company  tergether." 

There  was  no  cloud  now  upon  the  paternal  brow.  But 
Eli  Strobe  affected  doubt  or  ignorance.  "  No  countin'  on 
gals ;  no  way  ter  find  'em  out.  They  will  ter-day,  an'  they 
won't  ter-morrer,  like  the  wind  blows.  Yes,  sir."  He  rose 
ponderously  from  his  chair.  '»  Waal,  Teck,"  he  continued, 
"  I  be  powerful  sorry  ye  won't  bide  along  o'  we-uns  ter- 
night.  I  never  done  ye  this-a-way,  whenst  I  war  on  the 
mounting." 

For  Jepson  had  declined  his  hospitality,  and  had  expected 
to  ride  up  the  mountain  before  dark.  He  hesitated  now, 
and  glanced  toward  the  gray  little  cabin,  with  its  back 
ground  of  a  roseate  sky  and  an  amethystine  mountain.  A 
flutter  among  the  vines,  —  a  flitting  blue  dress,  was  it  ? 
How  the  grudging  distance  denied  him  ! 

"Ax  me  agin  !  "  he  exclaimed,  letting  his  hand  fall 
heavily  on  his  host's  arm.  And  so  they  strolled  toward 
the  cabin  together. 

Clement  Sanders,  moodily  loitering  along  the  river  bank, 
followed  them  with  anxious  eyes. 

"  All  them  cussed  critters  a-waitin'  on  Marcelly  !  She  '11 
take  a  notion  ter  some  o'  'em,  whilst  I  'm  bein'  lured  by 
Satan.  I  reckon  I  ain't  been  doin'  right ;  them  kyerds 
bed  a  snare  in  'em  surely.  I  never  won  nutbin'  sca'cely, 


64    THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

nohow,  an'  it  '11  go  powerful  hard  with  me  ter  lose  Marcelly 
at  sech  a  game." 

Everything  spoke  of  approaching  night.  The  long,  low 
nocturnal  susurrus  of  the  woods  was  already  on  the  air.  A 
bat  came  noiselessly  flitting  past.  The  color  was  fading 
out  of  the  west.  A  whip-poor-will  plained  in  the  dense 
foliage  hard  by.  A  wind,  willful  wanderer,  had  sprung  up 
somewhere,  and  was  abroad  in  the  slopes.  The  forge  fire 
had  not  been  kindled  that  day,  and  the  ashes  were  gray  on 
the  hearth.  He  went  within,  despite  some  secret  perturba 
tion,  and  with  the  care  characteristic  of  a  good  workman 
saw  that  his  tools  were  in  place  ;  he  closed  the  doors,  fast 
ened  the  shutters,  and  betook  himself  homeward.  He 
paused  when  he  had  nearly  reached  home  and  looked  back. 
How  lonely  was  the  dark  little  shanty,  with  the  looming 
mountain  beetling  above,  —  how  far  from  any  other  build 
ing  !  Anything  might  happen  there. 

The  late  moon  came  stealing  into  the  broad,  uninclosed 
passage  between  the  two  rooms  of  his  mother's  house,  be 
fore  he  had  finished  his  supper.  He  looked  at  it  from  the 
dusky  red  glow  of  the  room,  but  half  illumined  by  the 
smouldering  fire,  as  he  sat  at  the  table,  and  strove  to  answer 
his  mother's  chat,  and  to  eat  and  drink  with  a  normal 
appetite.  The  sheen  was  melancholy  and  white,  and  the 
leaves  of  the  vines  that  it  limned  on  the  floor  scarcely 
stirred.  A  bird  —  a  wren,  perhaps,  some  tiny,  house-loving 
thing  —  had  built  in  their  midst ;  a  colorless  simulacrum  of 
the  circular  nest,  of  the  delicate  shape  within,  the  head  and 
bill  distinct,  was  on  the  puncheons.  But  presently  she  put 
her  head  beneath  her  wing,  and  then  one  might  hardly  have 
distinguished  amidst  the  tracery  of  the  shadows  the  nest 
from  a  leaf  of  the  gourd  vines  or  from  the  globular  fruit  it 
self.  When  he  strode  up  the  ladder,  presently,  to  the  roof- 
room,  he  found  the  moon  there,  too,  in  the  homely  and  soli 
tary  place.  The  glittering  square  of  the  tiny  window  lay 
on  the  floor  ;  a  soft  irradiation  from  it  seemed  to  enrich  the 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.    65 

narrow,  tent-like  space.  He  noted  the  glimmer  on  the  white 
bark  of  a  gigantic  poplar  hard  by,  and  the  low  hanging 
branches  of  the  beech.  It  was  very  still  without :  no  dog 
barked,  no  foot  stirred,  —  only  the  insistent  cry  of  the 
cicada,  and  the  sylvan  chant  of  the  stream  as  it  hied  down 
the  mountain-side,  in  the  lonely  splendors  of  the  night. 
"  Seems  ef  they  war  laffin'  an'  talkin'  at  Strobe's,  I  mought 
hear  'em  hyar,"  he  said.  He  longed  to  join  them,  and  yet 
he  doubted.  He  was  in  no  mood  for  company.  "  I  be  ez 
mum  ez  a  dumb  one,"  he  said.  "  I  don't  want  ter  set  thar 
tongue-tied,  an'  let  them  other  fellers  show  off  talkin'." 
And  still  he  doubted.  Mental  perturbation  wrought  upon 
his  resources  as  toil  could  not.  He  sank  down  in  a  chair, 
and  bent  his  head  upon  his  hand,  while  he  cogitated. 

Suddenly,  he  saw  that  the  moon  had  changed  in  the  sky. 
The  trees  without  caught  the  light  from  another  quarter. 
He  had  slept  for  hours.  He  sprang  to  his  numb  feet,  and 
bent  down  to  the  tiny  aperture  to  look  out.  The  next 
moment  his  heart  seemed  to  stand  still. 

Far  along  the  broad  moonlit  vista  between  the  mountain 
and  the  cliffs  of  the  gorge,  he  saw  the  little  forge,  with 
the  looming  heights  above  ;  and  could  it  be  that  here  and 
there  lines  of  red  light  gleamed  through  its  ill-chinked 
walls  ?  And  did  he  hear,  or  did  he  fancy,  vibrating  in  the 
midnight,  the  clink-clank  of  the  hammer  and  the  sledge, 
the  sound  he  knew  so  well  ?  For  one  instant  the  strongest 
feeling  within  him  was  the  instinct  of  an  outraged  proprie 
tor.  And  in  that  instant  he  reached  out  of  the  window, 
seized  the  shining  beech  boughs  so  close  at  hand,  and  swung 
down  to  the  ground,  having  paused  only  to  slip  into  his  long 
boot-leg  a  "  shootin'  iron  "  for  the  intimidation  of  the  un 
known  trespasser.  He  was  on  his  feet  and  in  the  road  be 
fore  he  remembered  that  other  self,  his  strange,  white-faced 
double,  that  lurked  about  the  forge  and  opened  the  shutter 
to  look  in  upon  its  hilarious  image.  Not  the  first  time  had 
It  kindled  the  fires  and  wielded  the  hammer,  he  recollected 


66         THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE. 

with  a  chilly  thrill.  Had  not  the  chance  wayfarer  noted 
the  uncanny  sounds  of  forging  in  the  night,  while  he,  the 
smith,  was  lying  far  away  in  a  deep  sleep  ? 

He  was  advancing  mechanically  along  the  road.  Sud 
denly  he  paused.  He  could  not  face  It ;  he  would  not  en 
counter  Its  gaze.  What  a  frightful  thing  to  stand  and  meet 
It !  He  fell  to  trembling,  and  with  his  sleeve  wiped  the 
cold  drops  from  his  brow.  How  dark  the  mountains 
gloomed  !  With  what  a  sense  of  silence  was  the  moon  en 
dowed  !  Pacing  the  woods  in  stately  guise,  like  some  fair 
maiden,  lily-crowned,  —  who  hath  heard  her  step  ? 

He  still  stood  looking  forward  uncertainly,  his  courage 
faltering,  his  intention  vacillating.  All  at  once  he  lifted 
his  head  to  the  sound  of  the  forge,  the  clinking  and  the 
clanking  of  the  hammer  and  the  sledge.  Regular,  sonorous, 
unceasing,  it  was.  "  He  oughter  understand  the  biz'ness," 
he  thought.  And  he  rolled  up  his  sleeve,  and  wondered  if 
the  pallid  resemblance  wielded  an  arm  like  that. 

He  had  turned  about  to  go  home.  And  yet  he  paused 
in  the  way,  looking  back  over  his  shoulder.  The  idea  ex 
erted  a  morbid  fascination  upon  him.  He  hardly  trusted 
his  resolve  ;  he  knew  that  he  was  toying  with  a  temptation ; 
he  expected  to  flee  even  when  he  advanced,  as  he  turned 
once  more  and  ran  fleetly,  deftly,  down  the  road  toward  the 
place.  What  if  he  should  meet  It  running  too  !  Would  It 
seem  so  horrible  to  him  but  for  the  thought  of  that  solemn 
pallor,  that  stony  stillness,  on  Its  face  ?  More  than  once 
he  paused  and  turned,  only  to  change  about  again,  and  run 
swiftly  toward  the  forge.  A  new  terror  presently  beset 
him  as  he  neared  the  building.  He  could  no  longer  flee ; 
he  could  not  turn  his  back  upon  the  forge,  for  the  ghastly 
fear  of  what  might  issue  forth  and  pursue.  Perhaps  the 
familiar  sounds  of  the  forging  had  unconsciously  some  bra 
cing  effect  upon  his  nerves.  He  was  near  enough  now  to 
hear  the  anvil  ring  and  ring.  Once  he  fancied  a  word  was 
spoken,  and  then  only  the  crash  of  the  sledge  following  the 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.    67 

imperative  clink  of  the  hand-hammer  ;  his  practiced  ear  de 
tected  the  difference  in  the  vibrations  when  the  smith  smote 
the  face  of  the  anvil  instead  of  the  metal  in  process  of  forg 
ing,  as  a  signal  that  the  blows  of  the  sledge  should  cease. 
'•  Jes'  like  me  !  "  he  thought ;  and  like  any  other  smith,  he 
knew.  The  blows  had  quickened  anew,  and  rang  out  re 
sonantly  when  he  was  close  at  hand.  Now  and  again  the 
heavy  sighing  of  the  bellows  burst  forth,  and  the  light  of 
the  fanned  fire  flared  through  the  chinking.  He  stole  cau 
tiously  to  the  window,  —  the  window,  he  remembered, 
through  which  It  had  looked  at  him.  His  hand  was  upon 
the  shutter  when  he  caught  his  foot  in  a  vine  of  the  dense 
undergrowth,  and  came  heavily  to  the  ground,  with  a  noisy 
thud  and  a  commotion  of  dislodged  stone  and  gravel  rolling 
beneath  his  feet. 

Instantly  the  place  was  dark  and  silent.  He  drew  him 
self  up,  bruised  and  shaken,  and  ran  limping  around  to  the 
door.  It  was  closed.  He  pulled  it  open,  and  the  pale 
moonlight  fell  through  the  broad  aperture,  revealing  the 
empty  and  dusky  place.  A  few  coals  glowed  slumberously 
beneath  the  sooty  hood.  He  could  not  at  once  remember 
whether  he  had  left  fire  here.  He  doubted  his  senses. 
Had  he  seen  aught,  heard  aught  ?  Stay  !  the  anvil,  telltale, 
was  still  softly  ringing,  ringing,  —  fine  and  faint  metallic 
tones.  He  could  hardly  have  said  why  this  obedience  to 
natural  laws  should  shake  his  superstition,  but  with  the 
conviction  that  the  intrusion  was  of  human  agency,  he  ran 
out  into  the  night,  and  roused  the  echoes  with  his  wild 
halloo.  How  they  tossed  the  word  to  and  fro  !  How  they 
hailed  the  further  steeps,  and  how  tlie  savage  heights  re 
plied  !  And  when  he  had  listened  until  all  had  sunk  to 
silence,  a  far  and  faint  "  Halloo  !  "  from  the  vague  upper  air 
startled  him  with  a  chill  tremor.  He  suddenly  began  to  re 
flect  that  he  had  found  both  door  and  shutter  closed,  and 
this  place,  sounding  and  alight  one  moment,  dark  and  silent 
and  empty  the  next.  As  to  the  fire,  he  trembled  to  think 


68    THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

where  it  might  have  been  kindled.  And  the  anvil,  — would 
it  not  ring  if  that  pallid  simulacrum  of  a  smith  should  smite 
it  ?  With  these  thoughts  he  betook  himself  home,  leaving 
the  forge  silent  and  dark  behind  him,  although  he  often 
sought  with  a  fearful  fancy  to  think  it  alight  once  more, 
and  to  hear  the  ringing  of  the  anvil  or  the  melancholy  sigh 
ing  of  the  bellows. 


V. 

MARCELLA  was  spinning  on  the  porch,  when  Teck  Jepson 
and  her  father  came  through  the  corn-field  toward  the 
cabin,  —  spinning  at  the  little  flax-wheel,  as  she  sat  in  a 
low  chair,  her  foot  on  the  treadle.  The  jack-bean  vines 
that  hung  above  her  head  blossomed  lilac  and  white  ;  the 
amethystine  mountain  looming  behind  the  gray  roof  was 
gradually  turning  a  darksome  purple  ;  the  blue  and  curling 
smoke  that  issued  from  the  stick-and-clay  chimney  made 
spiral  progress  up  and  up  the  slope.  The  zenith  was  a  lus 
treless  golden  hue,  and  the  west  was  crimson  and  burned 
with  a  passion  of  color,  and  the  evening  star  was  kindling. 
The  daylight  lingered,  nevertheless,  and  as  the  girl  drew 
out  the  long  fine  fibre  of  the  flax,  it  glistened  yellow,  while 
the  wheel  whirled,  and  she  seemed  to  be  spinning  sunbeams. 
Her  face  was  serene,  though  unsmiling,  and  she  sat  silent, 
while  the  swift  wheel  whirred  and  whirred,  and  a  katydid 
clamored  in  the  gourd-vines  hard  by.  Amidst  their  luxuri 
ant  tangles  a  firefly  sent  forth  a  fluctuating  gleam. 

It  was  some  moments  before  Jepson  noted  Andy  Long- 
wood,  the  "frequent  visitor,"  sitting  on  the  steps  of  the 
porch,  or  heeded  the  high,  chirping  voice  of  the  callow  Isa 
bel,  who  evidently  carried  on  most  of  the  conversation. 
The  young  fellow's  fair  hair  floated  down  upon  his  shoul 
ders  in  loose  ringlets,  as  he  leaned  back  among  the  gourd- 
vines.  He  had  a  pensive  brow,  a  long,  curling  dark  lash,  a 
large  and  tranquil  eye. 

"  Dad-burned  purty  little  Woolly,  I  '11  swear,"  Teck  Jep 
son  commented  to  himself,  while  courteously  saluting  Eli 
Strobe's  mother,  who  had  instantly  come  to  the  door  to  re- 


70    THE  DESPOT  Of  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

ceive  him,  and  had  sat  down  in  a  chair  in  the  porch,  folding 
her  knotted  hands  peacefully  in  her  lap.  She  was  a  thin, 
active,  wizened  little  woman,  considerably  below  the  average 
height,  and  there  were  some  sharp  suggestions  of  mental 
agility,  as  well  as  physical,  in  her  quick  dark  eyes.  Her 
feet  did  not  quite  touch  the  floor,  and  as  she  stayed  them 
on  a  rung  of  the  chair  she  seemed  rather  perched  than 
seated,  and  the  instability  of  her  position  accented  her  tiny 
proportions.  Her  tall,  burly,  and  deliberate  son  bore  no 
trace  of  likeness  to  her,  and  she  often  observed,  with  the 
manner  of  discarding  all  responsibility  for  him,  that  he 
was  "  his  dad  over  agin."  This  "  dad  "  of  his  had  evi 
dently  not  been  an  ornament  to  his  sphere,  and  if  he  had 
met  joy  in  his  final  estate  it  was  well,  since  he  had  left  peace 
behind  him.  For  thirty  years  his  relict  had  worn  that  pecul 
iar  freshened,  released  aspect  common  to  many  widows,  and 
it  was  in  Eli's  most  stubborn  moods  that  she  usually  felt 
called  upon  to  mention  the  filial  resemblance. 

Teck  Jepson  strode  up  the  steps,  including  the  two  girls 
in  the  cursory  glance  which  he  bestowed  upon  the  rest  of 
the  party,  and  a  succinct  "  Howdy."  There  was  something 
always  impressive  in  his  height,  his  gait,  and  his  imperious 
face,  and  Marcella  was  vaguely  awed.  Her  hand  trembled 
upon  the  thread  she  was  spinning,  and  it  broke  beneath  her 
touch.  She  did  not  have  the  voice,  somehow,  to  join  in  the 
soberly  piped  "  Howdy  "  with  which  Isabel  returned  the 
salutation.  Jepson  gave  the  "frequent  visitor"  no  further 
notice,  and  he  held  himself  sedulously  aloof  from  the 
younger  people,  accepting  a  chair  on  the  porch  which  Eli 
Strobe  tendered  him,  and  looking  over  their  heads  at  the 
waning  sunset-tide. 

«  Waal,  Teck,"  Mrs.  Strobe  observed,  after  the  greetings, 
"  how  d'  ye  like  livin'  up  on  the  high  mounting  ?  " 

She  turned  upon  him  her  bright  eyes,  set  very  close 
together,  like  the  small  Isabel's,  and  her  dry  lips  distended 
in  a  faint  smile,  and  then  became  speciously  grave,  as  if 
they  meant  to  keep  all  the  fun  to  themselves. 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE    71 

"  It  don't  make  no  differ  to  me,  Mis'  Strobe,"  he  an 
swered,  —  his  rich,  melancholy  voice  seemed  to  constrain 
the  air  to  silence,  and  caused  a  remark  of  the  "  frequent  vis 
itor  "  to  halt  upon  his  lips,  as  he  looked  up  with  mute, 
respectful  curiosity  at  the  new-coiner.  "  Whar  the  sperit 
leads  me  I  will  foller." 

Mrs.  Strobe  tossed  her  head  aggressively ;  she  had  scant 
faith  in  any  holiness  save  her  own,  and  less  patience  with 
its  assertion.  And  thus  it  was  that  she  herself  spoke  now 
as  one  of  the  uncovenanted  :  — 

"  Ef  I  war  you-uns,  I  'd  wisht  the  sperit  hed  better 
taste  'n  ter  lead  me  whar  M'ria  Bowles  hed  set  up  her 
staff.  Ef  the  sperit  could  do  no  better  leadin'  'n  that  fur 
me,  I  'd  jes'  turn  in  an'  blaze  out  my  own  road.  Yes,  sir." 

She  turned  her  head  suddenly,  and  looked  at  him  with 
incongruous  daring,  like  a  reckless  wren. 

"  Need  n't  tell  me  nuthin'  'bout  M'ria  Bowles,"  she  con 
tinued,  taking  her  knitting  out  of  her  pocket,  —  "  she  war 
always  a  hard,  tantrum-y  gal,  with  the  kind  o'  good  looks 
ez  I  hed  ruther  be  ugly  than  hev  hed." 

She  twisted  the  yarn  around  her  little  finger  to  restrain 
its  presumable  impetuosity,  and  the  needles  began  to  twinkle 
as  they  moved.  Then  she  proceeded,  with  triumphant  dis 
regard  of  logic  :  — 

"  I  tried  an'  tried  ter  git  Eli  ter  tell  suthin'  'bout'n  her, 
arter  he  went  a-visitin'  up  in  the  mounting  at  Ben  Bowles's 
house.  But  '  Yes  'm  '  an'  '  Naw  'm  '  air  all  ez  he  hev  got 
fur  his  mother  nowadays,  bein'  ez  I  can't  vote  fur  him. 
Eli  air  so  'feared  he  '11  git  somebody  set  agin  him  'fore  the 
'lection,  by  telling'  suthin'  he  said  or  did  n't  say,  he  air 
mighty  nigh  mum  !  His  tongue  '11  limber  out  arter  awhile, 
though,  ye  mark  my  words.  Time  the  polls  air  closed  he  11 
know  whether  his  soul 's  his  own  or  no." 

Eli  Strobe  sat  under  this  criticism  with  an  impassiveness 
that  could  have  been  attained  only  by  long  practice.  He 
gazed  with  somnolent,  meditative  eyes  at  the  landscape,  his 


72          THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE. 

broad-brimmed  hat  pulled  over  his  brow,  his  elbow  upon  his 
knee,  his  chin  in  his  hand. 

Marcella  had  flushed  deeply.  The  spinning-wheel  had 
ceased  to  whir.  She  looked  up,  her  brown  eyes  alight,  the 
broken  thread  in  her  hand. 

"  Ye  mus'  hev  furgot,  granny,"  she  said,  her  voice  trem 
bling  with  the  effort  at  self -repression  into  due  respect ; 
"  dad  tole  ye  a  heap  'bout  the  folks  on  the  mounting." 

"  Till  we  war  both  tired  out'n  with  the  name  o'  Bowles," 
put  in  the  uncompromising  Isabel. 

"  He  tole  ye  Mis'  Bowles  war  good-lookin'  ez  ever,  an' 
her  husband  'peared  well-ter-do  an'  mightily  tuk  up  with 
her,"  itemized  Marcella ;  "  an'  he  reckoned  she  treated  her 
step-chill'n  well,  —  leastwise  they  war  fat  enough  ;  an'  she 
seemed  —  so  ter  say  —  ez  happy  ez  she  ever  war,  —  some 
lonesome,  mebbe,  bein'  on  £he  mounting.  He  tole  ye,  an' 
he  tole  ye  !  " 

"  Yes,  he  tole  ye !  "  said  Isabel,  with  an  unfilial  flirt  of 
her  tousled  hair. 

"  An'  dad  ain't  holdin'  his  jaw  fur  fear  o'  settin'  the  vot 
ers  catawampus."  There  were  tears  in  the  deep  brightness 
of  Marcella's  eyes.  "  He  ain't  afeard  o'  not  gittin'  'lected. 
He  kin  bide  by  the  vote  ez  onconsarned  ez  ever.  It 's  jes' 
me  an'  Is'lel  ez  hev  sot  our  hearts  on  his  bein'  lifted  high, 
above  all  the  people.  Dad  ain't  'fearcl." 

"Naw,  dad  ain't  'feard  o'  nuthin',"  declared  Isabel, 
tossing  her  head,  in  the  pride  of  "  dad's  "  courage. 

The  little  old  woman  glared  clown  upon  the  youthful  par 
tisans  of  "  dad  "  with  an  elaborate  show  of  displeasure. 

"  Air  Eli  Strobe  yer  chile  or  mine  ?  "  she  sourly  demanded 
of  the  damsels. 

This  potent  logic  bereft  them  of  all  rejoinder. 

"  I  hev  'lowed  fur  forty  year  an'  better  ez  he  war  my 
chile,"  Mrs.  Strobe  continued,  sarcastically.  "  Mebbe  though 
I  hev  been  mistaken." 

But  while  she  folded  her  arms  in  a  pose  of  important 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOUSEDGE  COVE.    73 

dudgeon,  letting  her  knitting  rest  idly  on  her  lap,  she  glanced 
at  Teck  Jepson  with  a  sort  of  internal  chuckle,  as  if  to  call 
his  attention  to  the  crushed  champions. 

"  Mos'  folks  would  'low  ez  I  hed  tuk  toler'ble  good  keer 
o'  him  without  enny  help  from  you-uns,  an',  bein'  ez  he  hev 
throve  toler'ble,  it  mought  'pear  like  I  war  n't  likely  ter  do 
nuthin'  ez  would  hurt  him  sure  enough,  or  make  him  seem 
small  ennywise.  Eli  Strobe  hev  made  out  ter  git  along  fur 
a  good  many  year  'thout  you-uns  ter  take  keer  o'  him,  — 
'fore  Marcelly  an'  Is'bel  war  ever  hearn  tell  on." 

For  the  first  time  the  bone  of  contention  lifted  his  voice. 
Eli  Strobe  wished  to  prevent  further  retort  on  the  part  of 
his  defenders. 

"  Shet  up,  chil'n,"  he  observed,  in  his  calm,  heavy  tones. 
*'  Shet  up.  Ye  talk  like  ye  ain't  got  no  sense." 

"  Sense  !  "  cried  the  sharp  little  dame.  "  Sense  don't  run 
in  the  fambly,  ez  fur  ez  I  know  it." 

She  did  not  include  herself  among  those  thus  deprived. 
She  chose  to  consider  her  departed  lord  the  head  of  the  fam 
ily,  and  herself  as  only  an  interloper. 

"  Naw,  sir,"  she  observed,  after  a  pause,  "  Eli  brung  no 
news  home.  I  never  knowed  a  man  ez  would.  They 
gredge  news  to  wimmin  folks.  But  law,"  —  she  was  knit 
ting  again  with  an  appearance  of  great  inattention  to  the 
industry,  looking  about  over  the  whisking  needles,  —  "  the 
gals  air  nigh  ez  bad  'bout  -bringin'  news  home,  ef  not  wuss. 
Ye  see,  Teck,  I  can't  go  'bout  much,  bein'  rheumatic.  Ye 
mought  'low  thar  war  n't  enough  o'  me  ter  'commodate  much 
rheumatism,  but  I  got  more  'n  I  need.  So  only  the  gals  wen£ 
ter  the  baptizin.'  Sir,  they  hearn  nare  word  o'  the  preachin', 
nare  whisper  o'  the  singin',  salvation  seemed  afar  off,  an' 
the  gran'jer  o'  this  worl'  war  more  ter  them  'n  the  waters  o' 
Jordan.  Yes,  sir  !  Answer  me  no  questions  could  they, 
—  no  text,  no  psalm,  could  n't  even  tell  what  saints  war 
'tendin'  on  the  baptizin',  nor  who  war  saved  nor  who  war 
shoutin'.  Fur  they  war  all  set  ter  wonder  over  a  strange 

' 


74          THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE. 

man  they  met  a-kemin'  home ;  special  good-lookin',  accor- 
din'  ter  Marcelly." 

"  Granny  !  "  cried  the  girl,  starting  up  from  her  chair, 
overturning  the  spinning-wheel  upon  the  surprised  "  Wool- 

iy." 

"  Hold  yer  jaw  whilst  yer  elders  speak  !  "  exclaimed  the 
imperative  old  woman.  "  Good-lookin',  it  seemed,  till  Mar 
celly  could  n't  rest,  but  hard-hearted  an'  cruel-eyed,  fur  all 
he  hed  eyes  blue  an'  deep  ez  a  well,  accordin'  ter  Marcelly  ; 
an'  she  b'lieved  he  hed  no  religion,  though  pious  words  war 
on  his  tongue !  An'  I  hed  that  man  fur  breakfus',  an'  din 
ner,  an'  supper;  an'  when  Marcelly  war  plumb  beat  out 
talkin'  'bout  him,  Is'bel  tuk  her  turn." 

"  Granny !  "  faintly  reiterated  Marcella,  crimson  and 
faltering,  and  hardly  heeding  Andy  Longwood  at  her  feet, 
as  he  sought  to  lift  the  wheel  to  its  place  before  her,  and  to 
disengage  his  elbow  from  the  "  spun-truck." 

Isabel  looked  aghast  from  one  to  the  other. 

"  Granny,  it 's  that  same  man  !  "  she  cried,  with  a  facial 
contortion  of  great  significance,  but  which  her  aged  relative 
failed  to  interpret.  Eli  Strobe  looked  heavily  on,  a  little 
doubtful,  but  unable  to  understand  the  commotion. 

"  I  know  it 's  that  same  man  I  'm  a-talkin'  'bout,"  Mrs. 
Strobe  observed  with  dignity.  "  Ye  did  n't  know  his  name, 
nare  one  o'  ye ;  his  looks  war  enough  fur  ye  an'  Marcelly, 
special  Marcelly.  An'  ez  ter  his,  hard  heart,  an'  his  cruel 
eyes,  an'  his  bein'  a  hypocrite,  it 's  him  ez  hev  got  ter  burn 
in  Torment  fur  that,  not  Marcelly  ;  so  she  rej'iced  an' 
j*ej'iced  in  the  handsome  sinner,  a-purtendin'  ter  despise 
him  so !  " 

Isabel,  less  daunted  by  the  situation  than  her  sister,  found 
strength  to  rise  from  the  step  where  she  had  sat  near  the 
"  frequent  visitor,"  and  faced  round  upon  her  unconscious 
grandmother.  She  relied  now  upon  nothing  less  pointed 
than  her  index-finger,  and  as  she  leveled  it  at  Jepson  she 
declared,  — 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.    75 

"  It 's  him,  granny,  —  him  ez  be  a-settin'  thar  in  the 
cheer  I  " 

Mrs.  Strobe's  jaw  dropped,  as  the  realization  of  the  social 
enormity  of  which  she  had  been  guilty  was  borne  in  upon 
her.  She  turned  her  faltering  eyes  upon  Jepson,  who  sat 
beside  her  motionless.  He  was  outwardly  calm.  His  brow 
bore  only  a  slight  corrugation  that  could  hardly  be  called  a 
frown.  His  face  was  impassive  ;  perhaps  its  imperious  and 
lofty  suggestions  were  accented  by  a  touch  of  disdain,  but 
in  his  eyes  his  anger  burned  undisguised.  Mrs.  Strobe  ap 
preciated  now  how  deep  they  were,  how  blue,  how  full  of 
n're,  how  alive  with  a  tempestuous  spirit.  His  long  legs 
were  stretched  out  before  him  ;  his  hat  was  pushed  far  back 
from  his  brow,  and  he  looked  forth  with  a  sedulous  appear 
ance  of  unconcern  at  the  mustering  shadows.  She  remem 
bered  in  dismay  the  opprobrious  epithets,  —  cruel-eyed, 
hard-hearted,  no  religion,  and  Marcella,  the  candidate's 
daughter,  despised  him. 

Now,  for  all  that  this  old  woman  was  so  sharp  of  tongue, 
the  good  of  her  household  lay  very  near  to  her  heart,  and 
her  deeds  were  widely  at  variance  with  her  words.  More 
over,  her  pride  in  her  son  was  very  great,  and  Eli  himself 
was  not  a  more  watchful  and  cautious  politician  than  she, 
when  need  arose.  A  breach  of  hospitality  was  not  less  ab 
horrent  to  her  than  an  infringement  of  the  ten  command 
ments  ;  but  hard  upon  the  sense  of  her  discourtesy  came  a 
poignant  and  politic  monition  for  the  interests  of  the  im 
pending  election. 

"Teck!  Teck  !  "  she  cried,  quaveringly,  "  't  war  n't  ye 
ez  them  two  sillies  met  an'  'lowed  war  a  strange  man  ?  " 

"  I  tole  ye,  granny,"  declared  the  self-sufficient  Isabel, 
buffeted  by  the  storm  of  emotions  the  crisis  had  roused, 
but  gallantly  weathering  it,  —  "I  tole  ye  he  'lowed  ez  he 
did  n't  know  me  an'  Marcelly,  but  he  knowed  dad,  an'  he 
war  kin  ter  Ben  Bowles.  Kin  ter  Bowles,  —  I  said  it,  an* 
I  said  it." 


76    THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOM  SEDGE  COVE. 

"  Shet  up  !  Who  knows  ye  an'  Marcelly,  ennyhows  ? 
Marcelly  hev  shot  up  hyar  like  Jonah's  gourd  in  a  single 
night,  —  tall  ez  a  bean-pole  an'  seventeen  year  old.  I  '11  be 
bound  ennybody  ez  hed  nuthin'  ter  do  but  ter  medjure  Mar 
celly  would  find  an  inch  lengthwise  onter  her  fur  every  day 
she  lives.  Who  knows  ye  an'  Marcelly,  ennyhows  ?  Pow 
erful  fine  folks  ter  know,  I  '11  be  bound  !  Teck,"  —  she 
turned  suavely  to  the  visitor,  —  "  ye  ain't  tellin'  me  't  war 
you-uns  sure  enough,  what  I  hev  knowed  sence  ye  war 
a-taddlin'  roun'  yer  mam's  knee  —  a  mighty  good  'oman 
she  war,  an'  the  end  she  made  war  a  sampler  to  the  saints, 
fur  I  war  thar  an'  see  her  takin'  off  —  bless  the  Lord  fur 
the  saints  !  —  't  war  n't  ye,  Teck,  ez  them  gals  war  a-makin' 
sech  a  miration  over,  ez  ef  they  hed  fund  a  mare's  nest  ?  " 

"  Yes  'm,"  he  assented  quietly,  "  't  war  me." 

She  noted  the  heavy  frown  gathering  in  the  shadow  of 
Eli  Strobe's  big  hat,  drawn  far  over  his  brow.  He  cast  a 
slow  glance  toward  the  group  ;  then  maintaining  his  mute, 
surly  dignity,  he  gazed  steadfastly  forward  at  the  glooming 
mountains. 

Marcella,  still  grave  and  silent,  had  risen  from  her  chair, 
more  circumspectly  this  time,  and  the  spinning-wheel  was 
not  overturned,  although  the  "  frequent  visitor  "  put  up  his 
arm  to  guard  against  it.  He  had  been  greatly  edified  by 
the  disastrous  commotion  in  the  conversation,  and  had 
briskly  turned  his  placid  face,  lighted  with  an  animation 
that  might  have  hitherto  seemed  impossible,  from  one  speaker 
to  the  other.  A  shade  of  regret  crossed  it  as  he  noted  Mar- 
cella's  movement,  but  it  was  in  a  jocose  undertone  that  he 
demanded,  "  AVhar  be  ye  a-travelin'  ter,  Marcelly  ?  " 

"  I  be  a-goin'  ter  dish  up  supper,"  she  answered  stiffly, 
and  with  her  voice  at  its  usual  pitch.  She  held  herself  a 
trifle  more  erect  than  usual ;  some  sudden  defiant  intima 
tions  of  pride  were  perceptible  in  her  manner,  as  she 
threaded  her  way  through  the  group,  but  in  passing  Jep- 
son  her  long  lashes  swept  her  red  cheek,  for  she  could  not 
encounter  his  gaze. 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.    77 

"  I  '11  be  bound  everything  air  burnt  ter  a  crisp,"  said  the 
officious  Isabel,  but  looking  hopefully  over  her  shoulder 
into  the  dusky  brown  interior.  It  was  lighted  only  by  the 
smouldering  fire,  that  cast  a  gigantic  shadow  of  the  slight 
Marcella  upon  ceiling  and  walls,  and  a  grotesquely  mag 
nified  and  frightful  image  of  the  old  hound.  For  the  dog 
of  the  "  frequent  visitor  "  was  singularly  accomplished  in 
accurately  understanding  the  English  language,  and  had 
sprung  up  with  much  youthful  alacrity  upon  the  mere  men 
tion  of  supper. 

He  had  followed  the  girl  into  the  room,  and  sat  beside 
the  hearth,  watching  with  anticipative  delight  each  dish  as 
it  was  borne  to  the  table,  licking  his  chaps  with  a  zestful  ex 
pression  ;  now  rising  up  suddenly,  and  then  composing  him 
self  to  sit  down  again,  while  his  shadow  on  the  wall  made 
queer  genuflections  and  obeisances  to  the  table,  with  all  the 
ardent  spirit  of  a  gourmand. 

Without,  the  old  woman  seized  the  opportunity.  She  sat 
for  a  moment  demurely  silent ;  then,  shaking  with  her  in 
ternal  chuckle,  she  said  in  a  low  tone  to  Teck,  — 

"  Marcelly  's  plumb  outdone,  I  know,  'kase  ye  hev  fund 
out  ez  she  war  streck  with  yer  good  looks,  Teck,  an'  called 
ye  han'some.  Laws-a-massy,  gals  air  mighty  purblind  an' 
foolish  critters  ;  they  think  the  men  air  gin  over  ter  studyin' 
'bout'n  'em,  an'  tryin'  ter  sense  what  they  mean,  when  the 
fellers,  mos'  likely,  air  jes'  standin'  with  thar  arms  a-kimbo, 
a-lookin'  at  the  weather-signs,  an'  a-wonderin'  what  the 
chances  air  fur  huntin'  ter-morrer." 

She  glanced  toward  Jepson  with  a  laugh,  expectant  of 
ready  acquiescence.  But  there  was  upon  his  face,  distinct 
enough  even  in  the  closing  shadows,  an  expression  so 
haughty,  so  aloof  and  unresponsive,  that  the  little  dame 
was  at  first  perturbed  and  troubled,  but  presently  grew  an 
gered  in  turn. 

"  A  spiteful  sinner  !  "  she  exclaimed  to  herself ;  "  mad 
now,  jes'  'kase  Marcelly  'lowed  he  hed  no  religion,  — an'  he 
ain't  got  none." 


78    THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

All  her  facile  cleverness  was  roused,  however,  and  she 
was  mindful,  too,  of  the  interests  of  the  approaching  elec 
tion.  Thus,  although  she  struck,  it  was  with  a  cautious 
hand  and  a  crafty  insight. 

"  But  I  reckon  mos'ly,"  she  said,  lowering  her  voice 
cautiously,  "  ez  Marcelly  war  tormented,  bein'  feared  ez 
Clem  Sanders  mought  hear  somehows  ez  she  lied  been  streck 
with  yer  good  looks.  I  '11  be  bound  that  skeered  her." 

She  forbore  for  a  moment  to  mark  how  her  shaft  had 
sped.  She  sat  motionless,  her  feet  perched  on  the  rung  of 
the  chair,  and  she  looked  very  small  and  unintentional,  and 
reflective,  as  she  placidly  contemplated  the  night  scene. 
The  fireflies  fluctuated  in  the  dank  shadows,  that  gloomed 
duskily  about  the  porch ;  now  close  at  hand,  now  a  mo 
mentary  gleam  far  away  in  a  bosky  tangle,  still  multiplying, 
till  they  seemed  some  elusively  glittering  network  spread 
as  a  snare  for  the  darkness.  The  mountains  had  become 
invisible  in  the  blackness,  save  for  their  rigid  summit-lines 
against  the  sky.  The  frogs  chanted  by  the  water-side,  and 
katydids  were  monotonously  shrilling  in  the  orchard.  The 
grating  of  Teck  Jepson's  chair  on  the  floor,  as  he  abruptly 
shifted  his  position,  was  the  only  sound  that  broke  upon  the 
quiet  with  the  jarring  effect  of  interruption,  and  as  Mrs. 
Strobe  turned  she  saw  his  face  thrown  into  strong  relief  by 
the  rays  of  a  tallow  dip  within,  which  Marcella  had  just 
kindled.  The  white  light  streamed  forth  as  far  as  the 
great  gourd-leaves  behind  his  head,  eliciting  their  faint 
green  color  with  the  interstices  of  olive-hued  shadows.  His 
face  had  relaxed  ;  it  was  haughty  no  longer.  There  was 
an  alert  anxiety  in  the  blue  eyes  which  the  mountain  girl 
fancied  so  deep.  He  had  taken  off  his  hat,  and  pushed 
back  his  dark  hair  from  his  forehead.  He  was  frowning  a 
little,  and  yet  he  hardly  noticed  the  sudden  flare  of  light 
upon  his  face  ;  his  compressed  lips  had  softened,  had 
parted.  He  said  nothing.  Another  voice  came  out  of  the 
darkness :  — 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.    79 

"  I  dunno  what  Clem  Sanders  mought  ondertake  ter  set 
hisse'f  up  ter  git  mad  fur,  'kase  Marcelly  lows  ez  this  one 
or  that  one  air  good-lookin',"  "  Woolly  "  spoke  up,  with  an 
acrimony  and  a  decision  which  showed  that  his  discourse 
was  not  exclusively  confined  to  the  placid  "  baa."  '•  Clem 
Sanders  hain't  got  no  right  ter  say  nuthin'  'bout  good-lookin' 
folks,  the  Lord  above  knows,  all  marked  up  with  cinders  an' 
soot  ez  he  be.  I  '11  be  bound  Marcelly  ain't  a-goiii'  ter  in 
terrupt  herse'f  studyin'  'bout  what  Clem  Sanders  thinks 
'bout  good  looks." 

"  What  ye  talkin'  'bout?  Hev  yer  senses  deserted  ye?" 
the  grandmother  remarked  to  the  **  frequent  visitor,"  with  a 
tart  familiarity  induced,  perhaps,  by  the  frequency  of  his 
visits.  "  Ye  can't  expect  a  blacksmith  ter  be  nuthin'  but 
cindery  an'  sooty,  —  like  folks  ez  plow  gits  miry.  None 
ter  choose  'twixt  'em,  I  'm  a-thinkin'." 

"  I  know  that."  Andy  Longwood  made  a  feint  of  acqui 
escence  ;  then  continued  droningly,  as  one  who  has  a  griev 
ance,  '*  But  Marcelly  ain't  mindin'  Clem  Sanders,  —  else 
she  ain't  the  gal  I  take  her  fur.  Looks  so  grizzly  an' 
sooty,  I  ain't  s'prised  none  ef  the  Satan  ez  Pa'son  Donnard 
seen  settin'  on  the  anvil  in  the  forge  war  n't  nuthin'  but 
Clem  hisself." 

u  Shucks  !  "  said  the  uncompromising  Isabel.  "  He  bed 
wings  an'  hawns,  'cordin'  ter  pa'son,  an'  Clem  hain't  nare 
one." 

"  Waal,  I  don't  keer,"  growled  "  Woolly."  "  Clem 's  a 
sight  ter  be  seen,  a  scandal  ter  the  jaybirds." 

"  That  don't  make  no  differ  !  "  cried  the  little  old  woman, 
stanch  in  argument.  "  Blacksmithin'  air  a  powerful  fine 
business  ;  the  folks  in  Brumsaidge  could  n't  git  along  'thout 
Clem.  An'  afore  him,  —  shucks  !  way  back  in  the  Bible 
times  they  lied  smiths,  an'  I  reckon  they  war  ez  sooty  an' 
cindery  then  ez  now ;  dirt  ain't  improved  none  noways,  ez  I 
onderstan',  sence  them  days.  Thar  war  a  man  then,  what 
the  Bible  speaks  respec'fully  of,  by  the  name  o'  Tubal  Cain, 


80          THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE. 

—  a  cunning  workman,  —  war  n't  thar,  Teck  ?  "  She  ap 
pealed  to  him  with  animation  as  to  a  Biblical  authority, 
expecting  an  eager  and  interested  response ;  but  he  only 
said,  "  Yes  'm,"  with  an  evident  effort,  cleared  his  throat, 
and  was  silent. 

Eli  Strobe  had  risen  in  obedience  to  some  signal  from 
indoors.  "  Kem  in  ter  supper."  His  big  voice  rumbled  out 
with  all  its  wonted  intonations  of  hospitality.  If  Jepson 
had  not  been  otherwise  absorbed,  he  might  have  noted  the 
candidate's  self-control  remarkable  in  so  tantalizing  an  epi 
sode.  It  did  not  escape  Mrs.  Strobe's  keen  attention,  and 
she  deported  herself  with  a  trifle  of  gay  bravado,  feeling 
beyond  the  reach  of  retribution,  since  the  dictates  of  policy 
so  hampered  deserts. 

"Waal,  sir,  eatin' supper  by  a  tallow  dip, — who  ever 
hearn  the  beat !  "  remarked  Isabel.  "  A  leetle  mo',  an'  we 
would  all  hev  gone  ter  bed  hongry." 

"  li;  do  be  a  powerful  late  supper."  Mrs.  Strobe  had  a 
slightly  harried  aspect ;  if  conscience  abode  within  her,  it 
wielded  its  power  in  her  housewifely  instincts.  "  Be  ye 
hongry,  Teck,  —  ye  an'  Andy  an'  Eli  ?  It 's  all  Marcelly's 
fault,  a-furgittin'  ter  dish  up  supper  till  nigh  on  ter  bed 
time.  An'  me,  too :  I  jes'  sot  an'  talked,  I  will  'low,  ez  ef 
my  tongue  war  tied  in  the  middle  an'  workin'  at  both 
e-ends." 

The  feeble  focus  of  the  candle  dully  glowed  in  the  centre 
of  the  table,  sending  out  a  subdued  glimmer  upon  the  faces 
that  surrounded  it  amidst  the  encompassing  obscurity.  A 
vague  glimpse  was  had  of  the  smoke-blackened  ceiling  just 
above,  with  a  rich  dash  of  color  where  a  cluster  of  strings 
of  red  peppers  hung.  The  walls  darkly  merged  into  shad 
ows  ;  the  fire  was  a  smouldering,  tawny-tinted  coal ;  the 
ceaseless  night  sounds  came  through  the  open  door,  —  the 
chirring  of  insects,  the  sigh  of  the  woods,  and  the  fret  of 
the  torrent.  As  Marcella  waited  upon  them,  she  was  invis 
ible  most  of  the  time  in  the  dark  periphery  of  the  circle  : 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.         81 

occasionally  there  were  transitory  visions  of  the  fair  dis 
penser  of  hospitality,  the  white  light  falling  on  her  delicate 
face,  and  floating  hair,  and  rounded  arm,  and  deft  hand, 
as  perchance  she  leaned  forward  and  tendered  the  cracked 
blue  bowl  of  honey  to  one  or  the  other  of  the  guests  ;  then 
only  an  alert,  noiseless  shadow,  slipping  about  in  the  kin 
dred  gloom. 

It  was  a  silent  meal,  albeit  the  little  old  dame  and 
Isabel  were  among  the  partakers.  When  they  all  repaired 
again  to  the  porch,  they  found  the  moonlight  there,  with 
yellow  slanting  rays  and  long,  melancholy  shadows,  and  the 
distorted  waning  disk  itself  hung  in  the  purple  spaces  above 
the  black  mountain  that  the  house  faced.  The  fireflies  were 
quenched  ;  only  now  and  then  a  feeble  gleam  stole  forth 
from  a  dark  cluster  of  gourd-leaves.  The  perfume  of  the 
orchard  was  sweet  on  the  air  ;  the  dew  glittered  on  the  low 
summits  of  the  old  gnarled  trees.  The  men  and  the  old 
woman  lighted  their  pipes,  and  the  coterie  silently  smoked, 
while  Marcella  sat  on  the  steps  of  the  porch,  in  the  full  ra 
diance  of  the  midsummer  sheen,  her  idle  hands  folded  upon 
one  knee,  her  lustrous  eyes  turned  upward  to  the  moon,  the 
wind  lightly  tossing  her  curling  hair.  Within,  the  candle 
still  sputtered,  while  Isabel  washed  the  dishes  and  pans,  — 
this  being  her  allotted  task, —  and  made  a  great  clatter  to 
better  express  her  industry. 

It  was  all  very  still  without ;  a  constraint  oppressed  the 
group.  Each  had  regrets  in  the  premises,  and  harbored 
resentments.  The  occupation  of  smoking,  the  meditative  lan 
guor  which  the  consumption  of  tobacco  warrants,  precluded 
the  necessity  for  conversation,  and  afforded  an  interval 
for  the  recuperation  of  the  downcast  spirits  of  the  company. 
Small  wonder  that  Clem  Sanders,  listening  from  his  roof- 
room  window,  heard  no  laughing  or  talking  at  Strobe's  ! 

Suddenly  the  shrill  clamor  of  a  screech-owl  invaded  the 
nocturnal  quietude  ;  again  and  yet  again,  with  its  sinister, 
mirthless  chuckle  supplementing  and  seeming  to  ridicule  its 


82    THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOM  SEDGE  COVE. 

own  hysteric  outcry.  It  grated  upon  the  nerves  of  Mrs. 
Strobe,  already  subjected  to  some  unusual  tension. 

u  Laws-a-massy,  jes'  listen  ter  that  thar  n'isy  fow-e/.  He 
be  a-goin'  ter  screech  thar  haffen  the  night,  I  '11  be  bound  ; 
an'  he  air  a  sure  sign  o'  death,  ter  holler  nigh  a  chimbly. 
Jes'  listen  at  him,  now,  a-laffin'  at  the  corpse  !  "  Once 
more  the  low,  joyless,  mocking  merriment  jarred  the  air. 
"  Take  yer  dad's  gun  thar,  Marcelly,  an'  run  down  in  the 
orchard,  an'  fire  it  off  at  him.  He  be  right  yander  in  that 
thar  sheep-nose  apple-tree." 

Marcella  rose  slowly.  "  I  '11  drive  him  off,"  she  said, 
"  but  I  ain't  a-goin'  ter  fire  no  gun  off  at  him  ;  the  critter 
hev  got  ez  good  a  right  ter  live  ez  I  hev.  I  '11  fling  a  sheep- 
nose  apple  at  him,  an'  that  be  ez  much  ez  I  be  a-goin'  ter 
do  ter  him." 

"  Listen  at  the  sassiness  of  the  stiff-necked  generation !  " 
exclaimed  the  old  woman,  evidently  the  exordium  of  a  ti 
rade  against  the  young  folks  nowadays.  But  Marcella  was 
already  far  down  the  grassy  slope,  and  out  of  hearing  ;  and 
with  one  scornful  glance  after  her,  Mrs.  Strobe  put  her 
pipe  into  her  mouth,  and  sourly  relapsed  into  silence. 

The  high  grass,  tasseled  and  rank,  glimmered  with  dew. 
The  moonlit  spaces  wore  a  finer  and  a  fairer  lustre  for  the 
deep  romantic  shadows  that  hung  about  the  boughs.  There 
were  long  and  glittering  arches,  where  the  fruited  branches 
interlaced,  and  in  the  dappling  shade  beneath,  the  boles,  all 
at  regular  intervals,  had  a  colunmated  effect ;  and  these  ar 
boreal  aisles  seemed  endless.  Even  the  homelier  incidents 
of  the  orchard  shared  the  enchantment  of  the  moonlight : 
some  blight  that  had  fallen  on  one  of  the  goodly  branches 
had  bereft  it  of  leaves  and  fruit,  and  a  web  that  had  been 
woven  about  it  shone,  a  refulgent  gauze,  and  radiated  a  del 
icate  and  fibrous  splendor.  Down  these  simple  ways  Mar 
cella  went,  the  light  upon  her  face  ;  her  hair  fluttered  with 
the  slight  breeze  ;  her  step  was  sure  and  free  ;  she  seemed 
so  ethereal  that  she  too  might  have  been  some  embellish- 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.    83 

ing  fantasy  of  the  night.  The  bird  of  ill-omen  had  ceased 
to  cry,  as  if  her  very  presence  exorcised  all  evil  fortunes. 
She  paused,  gazing  upward,  the  moonbeams  full  on  her  shin 
ing  eyes.  She  had  lifted  one  arm  and  laid  hold  of  a  fruit- 
freighted  bough.  It  seemed  strange  that  she  did  not  see 
the  owl,  so  well  she  realized  how  it  must  look,  up  among  the 
boughs  somewhere,  demurely  silent,  shuffling  down,  and  sup 
pressing,  as  it  were,  its  fearful  identity  among  its  mottled 
feathers,  its  head  askew  as  it  watched  her  with  its  big  yel 
low  eyes.  She  had  her  hand  upon  the  retributive  apple  ;  a 
sudden  footfall,  —  Teck  Jepson  was  approaching  along  the 
dewy  colonnade. 

The  owl  was  safe,  very  safe  indeed :  a  pity  that  the 
"  fow-eZ  "  might  not  have  known  this,  and  have  spared  itself 
the  anguish  of  fright  that  it  endured,  as  it  sat  almost  within 
arm's  length,  discreetly  silent,  refraining  from  stirring  claw 
or  feather,  and  wisely  looking  down  upon  them. 

The  bough  was  shaking  with  more  than  the  wind,  for 
Marcella's  hand  trembled  on  the  unplucked  apple. 

Jepson's  hat  was  thrust  on  the  back  of  his  head.  His 
face,  too,  was  distinctly  visible  as  he  approached.  Somehow 
he  had  never  seemed  to  her  so  tall,  so  imperious  of  temper, 
so  impressive,  as  now.  But  there  was  a  trifle  of  embarrass 
ment  in  his  manner,  and  he  only  said,  — 

"  Whar  's  that  thar  ow-el  ?  " 

"  I  dunno,"  faltered  Marcella. 

He  did  not  seem  to  care.  His  mind  was  evidently  little 
concerned  with  the  "  fow-eZ." 

He  paused,  looking  steadily  at  her,  as  if  he  expected  her 
to  speak  again.  But  she  still  stood  silent,  the  moonlight  in 
her  lustrous  eyes  and  on  her  upturned  face,  her  hand  on  the 
apple  as  it  swung  on  the  low  bough. 

"  I  never  expected  ter  hear  ez  ye  hed  been  talkin'  'bout 
me  that-a-way  ;  I  never  looked  fur  it,"  he  said. 

The  quick  color  surged  into  her  cheeks  ;  her  eyes  flashed  ; 
she  let  go  the  bough  so  suddenly  that,  swinging  elastically 


84          THE  DESPOT    OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE. 

into  its  place,  the  little  owl  was  almost  dislodged  from  its 
perch,  and  it  tightened  its  toes  and  even  slightly  spread  its 
wings  to  keep  its  balance.  It  uttered  a  low  sound,  a  sort 
of  mutter,  that  they  might  have  heard  had  they  not  been 
too  absorbed  ;  and  it  was  with  a  kind  of  resentful  dignity  that 
it  settled  itself  again  in  its  feathers,  and  cocked  its  head 
askew,  and  looked  down  at  them  with  its  round,  bright  eyes. 

"  An'  I  dunno  what  sorter  man  ye  kin  be,  ter  kern  mak- 
in'  remarks  ter  me  'bout'n  it,"  she  cried  indignantly. 

"  I  hev  knowed  ye  sech  a  little  time,  I  reckon  nobody 
would  hev  expected  sech  from  you-uns,"  he  resumed. 

She  stood  for  a  moment  in  blank  amazement.  Then  she 
seemed  ready  to  burst  into  tears.  "  I  never  said  it  'cept 
ter  granny,  —  an'  who  would  hev  thunk  o'  her  settin'  up  an' 
tellin'  it  all  ter  you-uns,  not  knowin'  ye  war  the  same  one  ? 
Ye  never  tole  we-uns  yer  name,  that  evenin'.  I  jes'  'lowed 
ye  war  kin  ter  Bowles." 

"  I  don't  keer  who  ye  said  it  ter,"  he  declared,  his  voice 
full  of  reproach.  "  I  ain't  keerin'  fur  nuthin'  'ceptin'  ye 
thunk  it,  —  an'  I  never  done  nuthin'  ter  make  ye  think  it." 

Once  more  she  looked  at  him,  aghast.  She  put  up  her 
hand  again  to  the  bough,  now  for  the  sake  of  support. 

"  Tellin'  folks,  an'  settin'  out  ter  b'lieve  ez  I  be  a  hyper- 
crite,  an'  purtend  ter  be  pious,  an'  "  — 

"  Oh  !  "  she  exclaimed,  with  a  note  of  comprehension  and 
relief  so  marked  that  he  paused  abruptly,  and  demanded 
sternly,  — 

"  What  did  you-uns  'low  I  war  talkin'  'bout  ?  " 

She  did  not  answer.  Her  expression  had  suddenly 
changed,  as  she  stood  under  the  bough.  No  dryad,  no  ethe 
real  native  of  the  tree,  could  wear  a  face  more  airily  light 
some,  more  elfinly  gay,  than  she,  looking  out  through  the 
sheen  and  the  flickering  shadow. 

"  Waal,"  said  he,  staring  blankly  at  her,  "  What  war  ye 
a-talkin'  'bout  ?  " 

She  only  shook  her  head  in  gleeful  silence. 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOM  SEDGE  COVE.    85 

"  Ye  never  said  mithin',"  he  resumed,  seeking  to  review 
the  conversation  that  he  might  unravel  its  mystery,  "  'cept>- 
in'  I  war  a  —  a  "  — he  stumbled  at  the  word,  —  "a  hyper- 
crite,  an'  a  sinner ;  —  yes,  an'  special  good-lookin',  but  I 
never  minded  that." 

Her  face  had  grown  conscious  again.  "  I  reckon  not," 
she  remarked  dryly. 

"  Ye  mind  that,  though,"  he  said  penetratingly,  at  last ; 
"  that 's  what  ye  thought  I  war  talkin'  'bout,  hey  ?  Waal, 
I  jes'  mind  ye  callin'  me  a  sinner,  an'  sayin'  ez  I  purtend 
ter  be  pious." 

He  noted  her  instant  relief  at  the  change  of  the  subject. 
"Ye  don't  mind  folks  knowin'  ye  called  'em  sinners,"  he 
continued,  **  but  whenst  it  comes  ter  handsome  sinners  "  — 

He  desisted,  in  pity  for  the  look  in  her  face. 

"  I  tell  ye  now,  Marcelly,"  he  said  gravely,  as  they  me 
chanically  took  their  way  together  toward  the  house,  "  ye 
may  'law  ez  I  be  hard-hearted,  an'  cruel-eyed,  an'  got  no 
religion,  but  I  be  a-goin'  ter  furgive  ye  fur  them  words,  — 
like  a  Christian  !  " 

It  was  the  first  wrong  that  he  had  ever  overlooked.  He 
found  forgiveness  easy  to  be  exercised,  and  very  sweet. 

She  stole  a  shy  look  at  his  face.  "  That 's  powerful  good 
in  ye,"  she  said  softly.  ''  I  war  jes'  a-talkin'  ter  be  a-talkin', 
an'  "  — 

Their  shadows,  close  together,  followed  them  over  the 
shining  grass,  and  for  a  time  they  were  silent  as  they  ap 
proached  the  group  on  the  porch. 

He  paused  abruptly,  and  looked  down  at  her. 

"  An'  I  don't  want  ye  ter  be  aggervatin'  yerse'f  by  'lowin' 
ez  I  ain't  goin'  ter  do  all  I  kin  fur  Eli  in  the  'lection.  What 
ye  said  ain't  goin'  ter  bender.  I  '11  vote  fur  him.  an'  git  all 
others  I  kin  ter  do  likewise." 

Marcella  began  to  experience  a  sensation  as  of  coals  of 
fire  heaped  upon  the  head.  She  could  only  murmur,  "  I 
war  jes'  a-talkin'  ter  be  a-talkin'." 


86    THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOM  SEDGE  COVE. 

That  night,  from  time  to  time,  as  the  hours  wore  on  and 
the  house  was  still,  the  little  owl  in  the  apple-tree  lifted  its 
voice  and  shrilled  aloud,  and  laughed  in  sinister  and  chuck 
ling  mirth,  while  the  moon  slowly  climbed  the  skies.  And 
Mrs.  Strobe,  turning  on  an  uneasy  pillow,  evolved  bitter 
reflections  concerning  the  inefficiency  of  the  present  gener 
ation. 

"  Sen'  two  hearty  young  folks  —  one  of  'em  mos'  seven 
feet  high  'ceptin'  what 's  lackin'  —  down  inter  a  orchard 
ter  fling  a  apple  at  a  o\v-el  an'  drive  him  off,  —  an'  a  boJy 
would  think  they  hed  invited  the  critter  ter  bide  ter  supper, 
an'  sing  by  me  cbuues  ar  ter  ward." 


YI. 

WHATEVER  might  be  the  character  of  the  nocturnal  vis 
itant  of  the  forge,  it  seemed  safe  enough  in  the  broad  glare 
of  sunlight ;  and  as  it  was  the  voting-place  of  the  district, 
it  was  by  no  means  deserted  on  that  momentous  Thursday 
in  August  when  the  election  was  held.  Marcella  had  felt 
throughout  the  canvass  the  terrible  strain  of  suspense,  but 
when  the  day  had  drawn  near  she  was  deprecatory  of  de 
cision,  and  wished  that  if  the  worst  must  be  it  might  not 
be  at  once. 

"  A  body  would  'low,  ter  hear  ye  a-goin'  on,  that  Eli  war 
ter  be  hung  ter-day,"  her  grandmother  remarked,  tartly. 
"  He  ain't  los'  a  ounce  o'  flesh  nor  a  hour  o'  sleep  sence  he 
war  a  candidate,  an'  he  went  off  from  hyar  this  mornin' 
high-colored  ez  common.  An'  look  at  you-uns  —  big-eyed, 
an'  pale-faced,  an'  lean-lookin',  an'  fluttery  —  drapped  the 
blue  bowl  an'  bruk  it  in  two ;  an'  Is'bel  patterns  arter  ye, 
till  thar  ain't  no  ch'ice  fur  a  fool  'twixt  ye.  Shucks  !  I 
mas'  be  mistaken,"  sarcastically  ;  "  they  be  goin'  surely  ter 
hang  Eli." 

From  time  to  time,  during  the  rich  and  dewy  morning 
hours,  when  the  bees  droned  about  the  blooming  clover  in 
the  orchard  aisles,  and  the  birds  were  abroad  in  the  high 
ways  of  the  skies,  Marcella  parted  the  sheltering  vines  on 
the  porch,  that  she  might  look  forth  unobserved  upon  the 
voters  gradually  assembling  at  the  polls.  She  knew  many 
of  them  by  sight,  and  was  informed  concerning  their  dis 
position  toward  her  father's  pretensions ;  and  thus  her  heart 
weighed  heavily  or  grew  buoyant,  as  enemies  or  friends 
were  in  the  majority.  They  came  chiefly  on  horseback, 


88    THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

and  there  were  rows  of  saddle-horses  hitched  to  the  rack 
before  the  wide  door  of  the  forge,  and  to  the  houghs  of 
trees  hard  by,  and  even  to  the  badly  chinked  logs  of  the 
building  itself  ;  sometimes  they  dully  drowsed,  sometimes 
impatiently  pawed,  sometimes  fell  to  bickering  together,  and 
necessitated  the  interposition  of  their  masters  to  readjust 
their  status.     Many  of  the  farmers  had  come  in  ox-wagons. 
The  teams  had  been  unyoked,  and  were  leisurely  munch 
ing  the  feed,  spread  out  in  the  dappling  shadows  upon  the 
ground  before  them.     Casting  a  vote,  the  inalienable  right 
of  an  American  citizen,  seemed  a  lengthy  and  serious  mat 
ter,  and  was  not  to  be  lightly  discharged  ;  during  the  main 
portion  of  the  day  it  busied  the  denizens  of  the  surround 
ing  slopes,  and  thus  deliberately  they  saved  the    country. 
The  assemblage  presented,  therefore,  something  of  the  as 
pect  of  an  exclusively  masculine  picnic,  for  such  women  and 
children  as  had  been  permitted  to  gratify  a  long-cherished 
hankering  to   "  view "  the  populous   Settlemint  had  hied 
them  decorously  to  the  houses  of  various  relatives,  —  the 
tender  ties  of  consanguinity  thus  utilized  on  this  auspicious 
occasion,  —  and  were  seen  no  more  during  the  day.     Old 
friends  met,  and  smoked,  and  talked  at  great  length.     The 
state  of  crops  in  various  localities  elicited  anxious  inquiries ; 
old  gossip  that  had  been  on  its  last  legs  suddenly  developed 
a  new  and  brisk  pair  of  limbs,  and  circulated  like  a  fresh 
scandal.     Parson  Donnard  could  not   have  failed  to  hear 
his  name  excitedly  coupled  with  that  of    the  devil,  as  he 
threaded  his  way  through  the  crowd ;  but  mindful  of  his 
vision,  he  placed  no  false  nor  sensitive  interpretation  upon 
this  association,  and  there  was  an    elongation    of  his  thin 
compressed  lips  which  in  an  ungodly  man  one  might  have 
thought  singularly  like  a  smile  of   flattered  vanity.      The 
heavy  jeans-clad  mountaineers   reverently   made   way    for 
him,  and  there  was  a  perceptible  abatement  of  the  guffaws 
and  slowly  drawled  jokes  as  he  passed.     But  as  in  more 
cultured  communities,  the  observance  and  the  feeling  were 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.    89 

not  always  in  close  compatibility,  and  the  criticism  he  en 
countered  was  as  if  he  were  of  this  world. 

"  I  dunno  why  pa'son  be  'lowed  ter  vote,"  said  Joe  Bas 
sett,  as  he  sprawled  on  the  protruding  roots  of  a  tree ;  two 
mountaineers  perched  hard  by  on  the  ,tongue  of  an  ox-wagon 
from  which  the  team  had  been  released,  and  a  third  reclined 
on  a  saddle  which  he  had  thrown  upon  the  ground.  "  Pa' 
son  can't  run  fur  nuthin ',"  continued  Bassett ;  "  he  can't  go 
ter  the  Legislator',  nor  nuthin',  nor  be  sher'ff.  They  don't 
let  preachers  hold  office,  nor  butchers  set  on  a  crim'nal 
jury,"  —  thus  seeking  in  his  ignorance  to  reconcile  the  in 
congruities  and  oddities  of  the  law. 

"  Pa'son  oughter  be  a-studyin'  'bout  a  seat  'mongst  the 
angels,  stiddier  gittin'  registered  'mongst  the  qualified  vot 
ers  o'  the  deestric',"  said  Gideon  Dake,  who  always  con 
firmed  Bassett's  views,  or  added  corollary  matter. 

"  What  be  Teck  Jepson  a-bobbin'  'bout  fur,  like  a  float 
on  a  fish-line  ?  "  demanded  Bassett.  "  Actially  a-stoppin' 
the  pa'son  mighty  nigh  at  the  door  of  the  forge.  Looks 
ter  be  a-wrastlin'  in  prayer  with  the  old  man,  —  in  an' 
about  goin'  ter  save  the  pa' son's  soul,  fust  thing  ye  know." 

"  Hain't  you-uns  hearn,"  said  Dake,  quickly  seizing  the 
opportunity  to  regale  the  professed  gossip  with  a  new  story, 
"  how  tumble  smitten  Teck  Jepson  an'  Marcelly  Strobe  hev 
got,  all  of  a  suddint  ?  An'  Teck  air  a-workin'  fur  the  'lec 
tion  like  he  war  demented.  I  made  him  beg  an'  beg  me 
fur  nigh  on  ter  a  hour  ter  vote  fur  Eli,  —  like  I  hed  counted 
on  doin'  all  the  time.  Now  Teck 's  argufyin'  with  the 
pa'son." 

"  Every  time  I  hear  o'  Marcelly  Strobe  she  hev  got  an 
other  feller  a-danglin'.  'Pears  like  ter  me  she  mus1  be 
a-foolin'  some  o'  them  boys,"  Bassett  commented  sourly. 

"  Laws-a-massy,  jes'  look  at  Teck,"  said  Dake,  laughing 
slightly,  albeit  his  teeth  were  closed  hard  upon  the  quid  of 
tobacco  in  his  mouth,  "  he  hev  gin  the  old  man  his  arm  an' 
air  jes'  a-draggin'  the  pa'son  up  ter  the  polls  !  Would  n't 


90    THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

trest  the  pa'son's  word  ter  vote  fur  Eli ;  gone  in  ter  see 
the  job  well  done.  Waal,  sir,"  —  he  shifted  his  position 
as  the  young  and  the  old  man  disappeared  together  within 
the  door,  —  "  that 's  jes'  the  way  he  done  me.  I  could  n't 
hev  got  away  from  him,  arter  I  hed  promised  ter  vote  for 
Eli,  ef  I  hed  wanted  ter." 

There  was  a  momentary  hiatus  in  the  conversation,  when 
a  tall,  lank  man,  some  twenty-eight  or  thirty  years  of  age, 
with  high  cheek-bones  and  a  sunburned,  narrow  face,  joined 
the  group.  He  had  a  bright,  quick  glance,  and  a  smoulder 
ing  spark  of  irritation  aided  its  effect.  His  countenance 
wore  a  ready  and  propitiatory  smile,  the  candidate's  smile, 
that  seemed  automatic  in  some  sort,  and  not  subject  to  the 
same  springs  that  sufficed  as  motor  for  his  other  expressions. 
He  flung  himself  upon  a  pile  of  shucks  and  hay,  the  forage 
of  neighboring  oxen,  and  he  chewed  a  long  straw  as  he 
talked. 

"  Hy're,  boys,"  he  said,  agreeably.  "  How  do  the  chances 
o'  the  'lection  'pear  ter  you-uns  ?  "  For  he  was  Joshua 
Nevins,  a  candidate  for  constable,  and  Eli  Strobe's  much- 
feared  rival. 

"  Mighty  well,"  said  Bassett,  reassuringly. 

"  Why  n't  ye  go  an'  vote,  Dake  ?  "  said  the  candidate, 
leaning  forward  to  scan  Gideon  Dake's  countenance. 

"  Ye  ain't  goin'  ter  try  ter  git  folks  ter  vote  twict,  air 
ye  ?  "  said  Dake,  jocosely.  "  I  hev  voted  wunst  ter-day,  an* 
they  tells  me  ez  that  be  ez  off'n  ez  the  law  allows." 

"  I  hopes  ye  voted  the  right  way,"  said  Nevins,  with  a 
bland  and  mollifying  demonstration  of  the  candidate's  smile. 

The  specious  Dake  nodded  his  head  convincingly.  "  I  '11 
be  bound  I  did,"  he  said  equivocally,  and  yet  so  unequiv 
ocally  that  the  momentary  fears  of  the  candidate  were  set 
at  rest. 

The  others,  mindful  of  Dake's  recent  representations  as 
to  the  casting  of  his  vote  under  Teck  Jepson's  tutelage,  ex 
perienced  a  certain  embarrassment  and  preserved  an  awk- 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.    91 

ward  silence,  none  arrogating  the  tact  to  innocuously  con 
tinue  the  conversation.  If  the  candidate  be  a  wily  genus, 
the  craft  of  the  voter  is  sometimes  commensurate. 

Nevins  seemed  the  most  innocent  of  men,  as  he  himself 
reopened  the  subject.  He  had  approached  the  group  with 
the  intention  of  merely  commending  himself  by  some  timely 
and  jocose  observations,  and  then  strolling  to  other  coteries. 
He  had,  however,  encountered  unexpected  opposition  to-day  ; 
he  had  thought  himself  almost  assured  of  success,  and  when 
the  doubt  began  to  arise  in  his  mind,  untutored  to  jeopardy, 
he  felt  himself  losing  his  balance. 

"  What  ails  Teck  Jepson,  ter  git  so  sot  agin  me  ?  "  he 
observed,  anxiously.  "  He  hev  jes'  been  a-bouncin'  aroun' 
electioneerin'  fur  Eli  ter-day  like — like  —  a  chicken  with 
its  head  off.  I  axed  him  awhile  ago,  —  I  beckoned  him  off, 
an  I  say,  '  What  ails  ye.  ter  work  agin  me,  Teck  ?  I  ain't 
done  nuthin'  ter  you-uns,  hev  I  ?  Air  ye  holdin'  a  gredge 
agin  me  ? '  An'  he  said,  '  Don't  ye  know  I  be  kin  ter  Eli 
nowadays  ?  My  half-brother  married  his  cousin,'  Teck  say. 
Shucks  !  I  know  that  ain't  the  reason."  He  glanced  in 
plaintive  interrogation  at  the  others. 

"  Waal,  things  turns  out  mos'ly  ez  they  air  bid  from 
above,"  said  one  of  the  men,  with  an  unexpected  attack  of 
piety. 

Nevins  looked  lugubriously  at  him.  This  was  an  arbitra 
tion  to  which  he  was  not  prepared  to  submit.  He  was  feel 
ing  exceedingly  helpless  in  the  hands  of  Providence. 

u  I  dunno  'bout  that,"  he  observed.  "  Things  in  Brum- 
saidge  turns  out  mos'ly  ez  Teck  Jepson  wills,  an'  Prov 
idence  sings  mighty  small." 

Then  reflecting  that  this  was  a  dolorous  prognostication 
on  his  own  account,  he  gathered  himself  together  as  jauntily 
as  he  could,  and  declared,  "  But  Teck  Jepson's  rule  is  over. 
Folks  in  Brumsaidge  hev  tried  Eli  Strobe,  an'  he  did  n't 
'gree  with  'em,  —  he  seen  too  much  '  Eli  Strobe,  Big  Man  !  ' 
in  his  office,  ter  suit  'em ;  an'  now  they  air  lookin'  fur  a 


92         THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE. 

man  what  jes'  wants  ter  sarve  the  people,  —  an'  that 's  my 
bes'  wish." 

The  others  sat  and  gazed  solemnly  at  him,  all  medita 
tively  listening.  For  a  moment  there  was  no  sound  but  the 
munching  of  an  ox  close  to  him,  as  the  beast  pulled  at  the 
pile  of  fodder  on  which  he  reclined.  As  the  great  horns 
came  threateningly  near,  he  threw  up  his  hand,  and  the  ox 
drew  off  with  a  muttered  low  of  surly  dissatisfaction. 

"  I  can't  onderstan'  Teck,  though,  — I  counted  on  him." 
He  returned  to  his  grievance  with  a  lapsing  courage. 

"  Waal,  ye  mought  ez  well  not,"  said  an  old  codger,  with 
a  grin.  "  Hev  you-uns  got  a  darter,  seventeen  year  old  ?  " 

The  young  man  stared  at  him  in  amazement. 

"  Course  I  hain't." 

"  Waal,  that 's  one  o'  the  special  qualifications  of  a  can 
didate,"  continued  the  elderly  wag.  "  A  tall,  high-steppin' 
darter,  with  long  curly  hair ;  that 's  what  ye  need,  ter  run 
agin  Eli." 

Nevins  was  silent  for  a  moment,  in  painful  consciousness 
of  this  lack.  He  was  a  good-natured  fellow,  and  had 
thought  his  two  small  boys  at  home  possessed  of  all  the 
filial  graces  and  values,  and  he  had  never  expected  to  be 
summoned  to  covet  a  tall  daughter  of  seventeen.  He  re 
sorted  to  contradiction. 

"  That  thar  gal  o'  Eli  Strobe's  ain't  seventeen,"  he  de 
clared,  "  nor  no  higher  'n  my  vest  pocket.  I  know  her.  I 
useter  see  her  constant." 

"  Waal,  she  's  been  agein'  an'  growin'  sence  then.  Least 
wise,  she  's  tall  enough  an'  old  enough  ter  make  Teck  Jep- 
son  step  around  mighty  spry.  I  ain't  seen  better  election- 
eerin'  fur  forty  year.  I  hed  counted  on  the  pleasure  o'  hevin' 
Eli  goin'  roun'  hyar  with  his  finger  in  his  mouth,  but  I  'm 
feared  o'  that  gal  o'  his'n.  Clem  Sanders,  too,  war  a-waitin' 
roun'  the  forge  fust  thing  this  raornin',  a-pinin'  fur  nine 
o'clock,  so  ez  the  j edges  would  declar'  the  polls  open,  an' 
let  him  put  in  his  vote  fur  Eli.  His  ticket  'peared  ter  burn 
his  fingers  till  he  got  it  inter  the  ballot-box." 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.    93 

"  He  in  love  with  her,  too  ?  "  asked  the  candidate,  drear 
ily.  He  had  never  anticipated  these  potent  odds.  What 
avail  was  it  to  parade  the  virtues  of  citizenship,  to  vaunt  his 
capacity  and  his  will  to  serve  the  people  in  the  office  to 
which  he  aspired,  —  with  tricksy  Cupid  afield ! 

Nevins  rose  presently,  the  straw  still  in  his  mouth,  his 
hat  pulled  far  over  his  brow,  and  sauntered  down  toward 
the  forge.  The  great  red  and  white  ox  instantly  planted 
his  cloven  hoof  where  Nevins  had  sat,  and  took  possession, 
as  it  were,  of  the  pile  of  forage,  trampling  it  down,  that  it 
might  not  afford  further  resting-place  for  loitering  politi 
cians. 

The  post-meridian  sun  was  now  a  trifle  aslant  upon  the 
valley  below ;  purple  shadows  had  begun  to  creep  along  the 
green  slopes.  How  warm  was  the  fragrance  of  the  grapes, 
hanging  upon  a  great  vine  that  draped  an  oak  from  top 
most  bough  to  root,  and  which  was  pillaged  as  high  as  the 
arm  of  man  could  reach !  The  tall  weeds  were  all  resound 
ing  with  the  whir  of  acrobatic  grasshoppers,  now  and  then 
leaping  amazingly  high  into  the  air.  Not  a  note  came  from 
the  birds  now  ;  not  a  wing  was  astir.  All  the  landscape 
shimmered  through  the  noontide  heat.  The  forge,  where 
the  three  judges  of  the  election  sat  with  the  precious,  ballot- 
box,  of  which  they  were  sworn  not  to  lose  sight  till  the 
polls  were  closed  and  the  vote  counted  out,  seemed  a  quiefc 
and  cool  refuge,  with  its  dark  shadows,  and  its  high,  tent- 
like  roof,  and  its  ill-chinked  walls,  affording  glimpses  of 
the  green  vistas  without.  The  little  window  at  the  rear, 
into  which  that  mysterious  semblance  of  the  smith  had 
stared,  pale  and  reproachful,  at  its  vigorous  living  self,  was 
wide  open ;  showing  now  a  squirrel  frisking  by  on  the 
mountain  slope,  and  now  only  a  devious  winding  path 
amidst  the  greenth  up  the  mountain-side,  with  the  trumpet- 
vine  a-blooming  scarlet  over  a  gray  rock,  and  in  the  low 
branches  of  an  elder-bush  a  bird  on  a  nest.  Now  and  then 
faces  were  thrust  in  at  this  window,  —  most  often  young 


94          THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE. 

and  beardless,  but  sometimes  old  and  grizzly,  — to  curiously 
scan  the  judges  and  the  practical  illustration  of  the  theory 
of  election  by  suffrage.  The  judges,  in  rickety  chairs,  tilted 
on  the  hind  legs,  demurely  smoked  their  pipes,  while  the 
clerk  sat  at  the  pine  table  on  which  the  ballot-box  rested. 
The  hearth  was  tireless,  the  hood  smokeless,  the  anvil  silent. 
The  stir  outside  came  cheerily  in,  and  when  the  line  of  vot 
ers  slackened,  and  no  ballot  had  been  deposited  for  some 
time,  and  the  interest  of  the  proceedings  seemed  indefinitely 
suspended,  the  judges  looked  wistfully  through  the  open 
door,  and  were  not  consoled  for  the  dullness  by  their  pre 
eminence  and  responsibility  and  conspicuous  honors.  That 
spirit  of  humor,  always  freakishly  manifested  in  a  crowd, 
was  quick  to  seize  on  the  situation,  and  occasionally  re 
marks  were  made  outside,  pointed  and  personal,  obviously 
intended  to  be  overheard  within. 

"  Did  you-uns  know  ez  Jethro  Peake  war  jedge  o'  'lec 
tion  ?  "  demanded  one  tousled-headed  apparition,  at  the  fa 
mous  batten  shutter,  of  an  unseen  crony  without. 

"  Never  knowed  he  war  jedge  o'  nuthin'  'ceptin'  jedge  o' 
whiskey,"  the  unseen  crony  replied. 

And  with  these  trivial  incidents  were  bridged  the  inter 
vals  when  it  seemed  as  if  all  the  district  had  voted  that 
cared  to  vote,  and  that  there  was  naught  more  for  the 
judges  but  to  sit  in  stately  isolation,  till  the  loitering  sum 
mer  sun  should  dawdle  down  the  western  sky,  and  the  hour 
come  when  it  would  be  lawful  to  declare  the  polls  closed. 

After  a  long  time,  when  the  stir  of  passing  feet,  the  sound 
of  talking  and  laughter,  the  champing  and  whickering  of 
horses,  had  been  more  than  usually  marked  to  the  tantalized 
referees,  whom  the  county  court  combined  to  honor,  they 
noted  that  an  expectant  stillness  fell  suddenly  upon  the 
crowd.  Then  half  a  dozen  men  pushed  into  the  blacksmith 
shop,  and  turned  about  with  excitement,  as  if  to  await  and 
watch  an  entrance  at  the  door.  Other  men  stood  by  with 
out.  There  were  half  a  dozen  heads  at  the  little  window, 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.    95 

and  the  batten  shutter  was  swinging.  The  bird  had  flown 
from  her  nest  in  the  elder-bush  to  a  bough  of  a  dogwood- 
tree  above,  and  perched  there,  with  quivering,  outspread 
wings,  and  a  feverish,  excited  eye,  and  a  harsh,  querulous, 
ceaseless  chirring.  A  ray  of  sunlight  fell  through  a  rift  in 
the  clapboards  like  some  splendid  glittering  lance,  reaching 
from  the  dusky,  peaked  roof  to  the  "  dirt-floor  "  beneath. 
The  polished  face  of  the  anvil  caught  the  beam  and  reflected 
it,  —  all  else  was  dark  and  shadowy  ;  even  through  the  broad 
door  the  light  was  only  a  vista  of  deep  green  leafage  and 
harmonious  gray  commingling  tones,  hardly  definite  enough 
to  be  called  shadow,  but  of  tender  and  modulating  effects  ; 
and  the  plows  left  to  be  sharpened,  and  the  wheels  to  be 
tired,  and  the  bar  on  which  the  smith's  tools  hung,  were  but 
dimly  descried.  Thus  stepping  suddenly  into  this  shaft  of 
light,  Jake  Baintree's  figure  was  singularly  distinct,  but  was 
not  instantly  recognized  by  the  judges.  One  of  them  slowly 
brought  down  the  forelegs  of  his  chair  to  the  ground,  and 
sat  looking  at  him,  one  hand  on  either  knee,  and  with  a 
round,  red,  wondering  face  and  an  inquisitive  eye.  So  long 
it  had  been  since  Baintree  was  familiarly  seen  in  Broom- 
sedge  —  going  thence  a  stripling,  returning  a  man  —  that 
the  certainty  of  his  identity  gradually  dawning  on  their 
minds  was  not  recognition,  but  inference.  Who  else  un 
known  would  present  himself  to  cast  his  vote  in  their  midst  ? 
Who  else  wore  so  blanched  a  face  but  the  jail-bird,  long 
shut  in  from  the  sun  and  the  wind  and  all  the  familiars  of 
the  weather  ?  He  was  very  tall  and  slender,  and  in  the 
shaft  of  light  in  which  he  stood,  the  extraordinarily  sharp, 
clear  cutting  of  his  features  was  apparent.  His  hair  was 
black  and  sleek,  and  lay  close  to  his  narrow  head  ;  it  had  a 
fine  and  thrifty  look,  like  the  coat  of  an  animal.  He  seemed 
very  meek,  but  for  all  that  his  gray  eye  was  uncertain,  it 
glittered.  He  looked  about  him  with  a  comprehensive  un 
derstanding,  unlike  the  dawdling  inattention  of  the  mountain 
eers.  As  he  offered  the  closely  rolled  scroll,  his  vote  was 


96    THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

challenged  by  one  of  the  judges,  and  he  was  quick  and 
ready  and  self-possessed,  and  took  the  oath  which  Jethro 
Peake  administered,  with  a  steady  manner,  and  evidently 
with  a  deliberate  intention.  He  wished,  perhaps,  the  crowd 
thought,  to  show  that  he  was  entitled  to  vote  ;  that  what 
ever  they  might  say,  the  law  held  him  innocent  and  denied 
him  none  of  the  rights  of  citizenship.  Still  with  one  hand 
on  each  fat  knee,  and  sitting  very  upright,  Jethro  Peake, 
his  round,  red  face,  with  a  bristly,  unshaven  stubble  about 
the  chin,  solemn  with  the  sense  of  the  dignity  and  impor 
tance  of  the  occasion,  demanded,  — 

"  Air  you-uns  cit'zen  o'  Tennessee  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Twenty-one  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Reside  in  this  county  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Resided  hyar  six  months  'fore  this  day  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

As  the  vote,  the  first  he  had  ever  cast,  was  accepted,  he 
looked  curiously  on,  while  the  closely  rolled  scroll  was 
dropped  unread  into  the  ballot-box.  Somehow  he  seemed 
unaccountably  disappointed  by  the  mysterious  silence  in 
which  his  choice  was  enveloped.  He  walked  slowly  toward 
the  door,  looking  back  over  his  shoulder  at  the  guarded  bal 
lot-box.  Suddenly  he  remarked  in  a  strange,  offhand  man 
ner,  "  I  ain't  keerin'  who  knows  how  my  vote  be  gin.  I 
scratched  one  name  off'n  my  ticket.  /  know  how  ter  write 
Eli  Strobe." 

There  were  the  makings  of  a  politician  in  Joshua  Nevins  ; 
he  answered  instantly  from  out  the  crowd,  "  I  kin  spare  yer 
vote,  Jake  Baintree.  An'  ef  I  can't  I  'd  ruther  be  defeated 
than  hold  office  by  the  favor  o'  a  scape-gallows." 

There  was  a  sensation  in  the  crowd,  and  some  "  scratched 
tickets  "  were  presently  deposited  that  might  have  shown, 
if  unrolled,  another  name  written  in,  that  was  not  Strobe. 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.    97 

A  change  ensued  in  the  atmosphere  of  popular  feeling.  It 
was  not  definite,  but  Teck  Jepson,  with  a  thousand  fine 
fibres  of  sensitiveness,  which  he  had  not  known  he  pos 
sessed,  became  painfully  aware  of  it,  and  fiercely  complained 
to  Eli  Strobe. 

"  I  'in  minded  ter  fling  ye  over  the  fence,  Eli,"  he  said. 
"  Ef  ye  hed  n't  gin  yerse'f  ter  upholdin'  that  thai1  Jake 
Baintree,  ye  would  n't  hev  been  lumped  with  a  murderer 
like  him." 

Eli  Strobe  rested  his  slow,  pompous  gaze  upon  his  friend. 

u  He  ain't  no  murderer.  An'  ef  he  war,  his  votin'  fur  me 
don't  lump  me  with  him." 

He  turned  his  heavy-lidded,  full-lashed  eyes  ruminatively 
upon  the  landscape,  and  said  no  more.  Despite  his  delib 
erate  burly  dignity,  however,  there  was  a  sense  of  trouble 
and  perplexity  about  him,  indefinitely  perceptible,  and  he 
evidently  listened  needfully  when  his  friend  and  backer 
rejoined,  — 

"  Waal,  his  votin'  fur  you-uns,  an'  tellin'  it  out  that-a- 
way,  will  make  a  heap  o'  folks  vote  agin  ye.  I  be  powerful 
glad  it  never  happened  no  sooner  in  the  day,  an'  ye  hev  got 
what  ye  hev  got.  What  ailed  the  darned  idjit  ?  " 

"I  reckon  he  'lowed  he  war  cloin'  me  a  favior,"  said 
Strobe,  with  unexpected  moderation.  "  He  wanted  me  an' 
all  the  folks  ter  know  ez  he  war  fur  my  'lection.  He  never 
voted  afore.  An'  he  hev  been  cooped  up  in  jail  so  long  he 
don't  'pear  ter  sense  much  'bout  some  things.  An'  yit,  'bout 
others  he  'pears  powerful  sly.  Pore  feller  !  " 

"  Poor  fool !  "  ejaculated  Jepson,  irritably.  "  What  ails 
him  ter  set  his  heart  —  dad-burn  him  !  —  on  yer  Section  ?  " 

He  grudged  Jake  Baintree  any  sentiment  that  he  shared. 

u  Waal,"  said  Eli,  hesitating,  "  the  folks  down  ter  my 
house  tuk  some  thought  o'  his'n  whenst  his  trial  an'  im 
prisonment  war  goin'  on,  an'  I  reckon  he  feels  thankful. 
Marcelly  air  one  o'  them  kind  ez  can't  rest  enny  ef  she  'lows 
ennybody  air  hongry,  or  lackin'  eiiny  wise ;  an'  she  toted 


98    THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

'em  gyardin  truck  whenst  they  never  planted,  an'  helped  'em 
sew  an'  weave  whenst  they  hed  no  heart  ter  work.  It  's  the 
natur'  o'  Marcelly." 

Jepson  stood  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  his  brows  con 
tracting  heavily  over  his  blue  eyes,  that  the  candidate's 
daughter  had  thought  so  cruel  and  yet  so  deep.  His  hat 
was  drawn  down  over  his  face,  and  the  shadow  of  the  beech- 
tree,  circumscribed  nearly  to  its  minimum  by  the  almost  ver 
tical  sunshine,  was  soft  upon  it.  He  turned  mechanically 
when  others  joined  the  group,  and  he  listened  with  frowning 
displeasure  to  the  suggestions  of  defeat  that  seemed  some 
how  to  be  suddenly  and  bountifully  deduced. 

"  I  be  powerful  afeard- 1  hev  flung  my  vote  away  on  ye, 
Eli,"  said  Gideon  Dake.  "  I  never  looked  ter  see  ye  hev 
sech  a  backer  ez  Jake  Baintree,"  with  a  jeering  glance. 
"  An'  some  others  say  the  same." 

"  An'  yit,"  said  Jepson,  feeling  keenly  the  instability  of 
popular  sentiment,  "  the  t'other  day,  whenst  I  purvented  him 
from  gittin'  baptized  'mongst  the  saints,  a  body  would  hev 
'lowed  ez  haffen  the  church  members  could  n't  rest  easy  in 
the  fold  'thout  Jake  Baintree  'mongst  'em.  Sech  a  haulin' 
over  the  coals  ez  I  got !  An'  now  ye  ain't  willin'  fur  him 
ter  jine  ye  at  the  polls,  whar  the  devil's  vote  would  n't  be 
challenged  ef  he  hed  been  livin'  six  months  in  the  county." 

Dake  made  no  defense  of  this  lack  of  logic  on  the  part 
of  the  community,  but  fell  to  whittling  a  stick  with  a  large 
clasp-knife,  as  he  leaned  against  the  bole  of  the  tree. 

"  That  ain't  what  makes  me  oneasy  'count  o'  Eli."  put  in 
an  elderly  grizzled  wight  with  an  air  of  pleasure  in  fetching 
cumulative  disabilities  into  the  prospect.  "  Eli  hev  been 
too  spry  ez  constable  ;  he  hev  been  too  keen  ter  pry  inter 
the  doin's«o'  folks  agin  the  law.  Now  Nevins,  he  mought 
do  the  same,  an'  then  agin  he  mought  n't.  He  hain't  been 
tried, — that's  the  main  chance.  Nobody's  got  no  gredge 
agin  him,  —  dunno  nuthin'  'bout  his  doin's  in  office.  But 
Eli,  he  hev  been  too  sharp-set  ter  administer  the  law." 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.         99 

"  Look-a-hyar,"  argued  Jepson,  '•  ye  be  a-takin'  arter  the 
man  fur  doin'  of  his  jewty." 

The  elderly  interlocutor  prefaced  his  reply  by  an  astute 
wink.  "  His  jewty  air  ter  please  the  people,  ef  he  wants  ter 
git  'lected  agin  !  "  —  a  golden  rule  for  incumbents. 

Jepson  relapsed  into  moody  silence,  and  this  choice  rea- 
soner  proceeded  with  an  illustration  in  point :  — 

"  Eli  can't  'low  sleepin'  dogs  ter  lie.  He  ain't  got  no 
'scrimination.  He  dunno  who  ter  sot  the  law  onter,  nor 
who  ter  muzzle  it  fur.  Thar's  old  Jer'miah  Miles  jes' 
drawed  a  pistol  ter  skeer  some  o'  them  bad  boys  out'n  his 
watermillion  patch,  an*  Eli,  passin'  by,  druv  the  boys  out'n 
the  patch,  an'  then  ups  an'  'rests  the  old  man  fur  kerryin' 
concealed  weepons.  Thar  's  fourteen  o'  the  Miles  kinsfolks 
kem  hyar  ter  vote  ter-day." 

If  the  officer  had  done  amiss,  his  punishment  seemed 
likely  to  be  greater  than  he  could  bear.  Like  most  people 
brought  into  propinquity  with  the  law,  Eli  Strobe  sought  to 
furnish  a  precedent  rather  than  a  justification.  k'  Waal,"  he 
argued,  barely  lifting  his  eyelids,  "  Sam  Blake  "  —  his  pred 
ecessor  in  office  —  "  would  hev  done  the  same." 

"  Shucks  !  "  exclaimed  the  other.  "  I  kin  jes'  hear  Sam 
Blake  a-hollerin'  ter  them  boys,  'Git  out'n  this  million  patch, 
or  I  '11  be  the  death  o'  ye  !  I  '11  jail  ye  'fore  night.'  "  Then 
dropping  his  rough  voice  to  dulcet  courtesy,  "  '  Mister  Miles, 
got  enny  o'  them  fine  cantaloupes  ter  spare  fur  my  saddle 
bags  ? '  I  say,  arrest  old  Miles  fur  kerryin'  concealed 
weepons  !  Sam  Blake  would  jes'  hev  begged  a  few  canta 
loupes,  that 's  all,  an'  never  seen  no  pistol." 

Teck  Jepson  could  ill  adapt  his  intolerant  and  domineer 
ing  spirit  to  the  prospect  of  defeat,  even  when  the  cause 
was  not  his  own.  He  had  made  to-day  perhaps  the  greatest 
sacrifice  to  his  affection  of  which  he  was  capable,  bending 
his  pride  to  beg  of  the  community  favor  for  another  which 
he  could  never  have  been  brought  to  ask  for  himself.  He 
was  weary  of  it  all,  and  depressed,  and  the  continual  col- 


100   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

lision,  in  which  he  must  restrain  himself  rather  than  con 
strain  others,  irked  him.  If,  among  the  narratives  upon 
which  he  loved  to  brood,  he  had  ever  heard  of  aught  so 
modern  as  the  romances  of  the  Middle  Ages,  the  idea  of 
a  knight  sallying  forth  in  search  of  noble  adventure  and 
deeds  of  prowess,  whereby  he  might  prove  himself  worthy  of 
the  fair,  would  have  commended  itself  as  cheap  and  easy 
in  comparison  to  his  devoirs  to  earn  the  gratitude  of  the 
candidate's  daughter. 

There  are  times  that  come  to  all  of  us  when  the  trivial 
incidents  of  the  world  pall,  when  the  presence  of  crowds 
weighs  upon  the  spirit,  when  existence  seems  petty  and  sor 
did,  and  we  look  back  to  some  period  of  solitude,  rich  with 
quiet  thought  or  chosen  and  .cherished  labor,  with  a  suddenly 
awakened  sense  that  then  we  were  clothed  in  our  true  iden 
tity  ;  in  that  interval  we  verily  lived  rather  than  merely  ex 
ercised  the  respiratory*  organs,  and  went  about  in  the  outer 
disguise  that  wears  our  name  and  is  recognized  of  men. 

Perhaps  in  human  experience  naught  might  more  fitly 
foster  this  repulsion  of  the  world  than  certain  stages  of  a 
political  canvass.  Jepson  stood  with  his  hat  in  his  hand, 
feeling  foreign  among  them  all,  looking  now  down  in  the 
valley,  and  again  up  to  the  great  heights  ;  wondering  sub- 
acutely  if  it  were  only  yesterday  that  he  had  heard  David 
sing  to  the  dulcet  measure  of  the  lilting  harp-strings,  and 
watched  the  moody  Saul  listening  on  his  couch,  his  dexter 
ous  hand  toying  with  the  stealthy  javelin,  ready  to  launch  it 
at  the  head  of  the  singer,  —  only  yesterday  that  he  had  seen 
the  high-priest's  rod  blossom  in  the  tabernacle,  had  heard 
the  waters  gush  from  the  rock  that  Moses  smote.  Still  the 
solemn  clouds,  as  then,  mysteriously  communed  with  peak 
and  cliff ;  the  radiant  sunshine  wore  a  rich  effulgence 
among  the  lonely  and  far-away  ranges,  blue  and  unreal, 
like  some  fine  deceit  of  the  senses,  ineffably  ethereal  as  they 
withdrew  into  the  unseen  spaces.  The  valley,  mute  and 
peaceful,  lay  far  below,  with  here  and  there  a  harvested 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOM  SEDGE-  COVE.  .  101 


field  —  a  tiny  yellow  square  —  an^l  a  flash  of  water  ;  and 
further,  a  wisp  of  smoke  that  came  frbni  ati  'invisible  'ofcim-; 
ney,  the  only  motion  in  the  supreme  tranquillity  of  the  scene. 
Here,  higher  up,  where  the  massive  purple  range  yawned 
with  the  wide  deep  interval  called  Broomsedge  Cove,  which 
seemed  to  be  in  the  valley  as  one  looked  at  the  vast  steep 
stretches  of  the  mountains  above,  and  seemed  on  the  range 
when  one  looked  down  at  the  valley  below,  the  men  wran 
gled  loudly,  the  oxen  lowed ;  there  was  a  great  clamor 
among  the  horses,  and  suddenly  Teck  Jepson  heard  his 
name  called.  He  turned  slowly,  to  see  his  mare's  hoof  in 
the  hands  of  the  blacksmith,  who  from  his  leaning  posture 
looked  up,  and  nodded  to  him  to  approach. 

Clem  Sanders,  ejected  from  the  forge  by  its  conversion 
to  the  public  uses,  was  devoting  the  day  to  the  pursuit  of 
art  for  art's  sake.  He  had  on  his  leather  apron,  and  the 
sleeve  of  his  hammer-arm  was  well  rolled  back,  showing  its 
swelling  cords.  He  carried  a  hammer  in  his  hand,  and  was 
going  about  examining  the  feet  of  all  the  horses  that  had 
been  ridden  to  the  Settlement  that  day.  He  seemed  by 
some  means  to  recognize  his  own  work,  and  he  would  stoop 
down  and  take  the  hoof  up,  and  tell  when  he  had  made  that 
shoe  and  had  shod  that  horse,  and  boast  to  the  little  group 
of  idlers  how  his  work  lasted.  His  face  was  a  study  when, 
in  catching  up  a  hoof,  he  would  descry  the  work  of  another 
smith,  —  his  alert  joy  to  discern  defects,  or  dismayed  solici 
tude  to  perceive  craft  as  good  as  his  own  or  superior.  It 
was  a  happy  moment  with  him  now  when  he  had  one  of  the 
clay-bank  mare's  hoofs  upon  his  leather  apron,  between  his 
knees,  as  he  stooped. 

"One  more  sech  shoein'  ez  this,  Teck,"  he  remarked 
oracularly,  "  an'  yer  mare  won't  have  nare  frawg  ter  her  huff." 

He  dropped  the  foot,  and  snatched  up  another  so  suddenly 
that  he  nearly  pulled  the  creature  down  ;  Teck  caught  the 
bridle  and  stroked  her  head,  for  she  was  restive,  and  then 
stood  reassuringly  beside  her  as  he  looked  at  the  groups 
about. 


1&2       THE  JPESZQT.  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE. 

The  polls  were  almost  /Jeserted.  The  crowd  around  the 
barges, 4h$cl,gro";vn  ^denser.  The  general  conversation  had 
a  wider  range  than  the  blacksmith's  remarks  on  the  hoof, 
and  the  frog,  and  the  shoe,  and  the  nail.  Dake  and  a  man 
from  North  Carolina,  a  visitor  and  a  cousin  of  a  neighbor 
ing  farmer,  were  turning  the  interval  to  account  in  the  way 
of  a  horse-trade,  and  about  them  stood  a  breathlessly  inter 
ested  coterie,  all  eager  to  witness  how  the  negotiation  should 
terminate  ;  all  ready  to  advise,  to  dissuade,  to  instill  suspi 
cion  ;  all  marking  with  thrills  of  excitement  that  invariable 
phenomenon  of  bargain  and  sale,  —  when  the  buyer  is  will 
ing,  the  vendor  is  reluctant  and  haggles,  swinging  back  to 
eager  entreaties  and  persuasive  logic  when  the  trade  seems 
likely  to  fall  through.  Other  wrangles  now  and  then 
drowned  their  voices,  and  usurped  the  popular  interest  in 
the  horse-trade. 

"  Listen  at  Teck,  now  !  "  cried  Jube  Donnard,  the  par 
son's  son.  "  Teck  'lows  that  thar  leetle  mare  o'  his'n,  ez 
be  sca'cely  bridle-wise,  kin  go  all  the  gaits.  Naw,  sir  !  Naw, 
sir  !  That  mare  can't  pace.  I  know  all  about  that  mare. 
She  don't  kem  of  pacing  stock.  Daddy  trot,  mammy  trot, 
colt  can't  pace  !  " 

Jube  was  in  his  own  person  the  most  pointed  contradiction 
of  his  assertion.  Piety  as  it  was  expressed  in  Broomsedge 
Cove  proved  itself  there  as  elsewhere  no  hereditary  quality, 
nor  possessed  of  any  traits  of  consanguinity.  In  Jube,  the 
parson's  son,  was  filially  repeated  the  long,  lank  paternal 
frame,  the  lantern  jaw,  the  narrow  head,  the  small  excited 
gray  eye,  and  the  thin  straight  lips,  one  compressed  upon 
the  other.  But  the  spirit  which  animated  the  youth  was 
devoid  of  any  similarity  to  that  of  the  solemn  ascetic 
religionist ;  and  as  Jube  went  at  large  in  Broomsedge,  it 
seemed  a  disrespect  in  some  sort  for  him  to  look  so  like  his 
father.  A  jovial  caricature  :  the  parson's  image  with  a 
jocose  swagger  ;  the  enthusiast's  eye,  lighted  with  a  dancing 
leer  or  eclipsed  by  a  flexible  wink  ;  a  mouth  grotesquely 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE    COVE.       103 

solemn  and  frequented  by  all  the  well-worn  jests  and  songs 
of  Broomsedge  Cove.  Even  the  old  man  himself  sometimes 
paused  to  look  wonderingly  at  this  junketing  blade,  so 
like,  yet  so  unlike,  his  recognition  of  himself. 

Jube  stood  now  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  his  hat  on 
the  back  of  his  head  and  all  askew,  his  solemn  face  intent, 
watching  the  action  of  the  mare  as  Teck  led  her  out  into 
the  open  space  and  stood  holding  her  bridle,  while  she 
snorted  and  pawed  impatiently,  and  bowed  down  her 
head,  and  tossed  her  black  mane.  She  was  a  very  ordi 
nary  specimen,  good-looking  only  because  she  was  young, 
and  fat,  and  strong,  and  frisky.  She  had  had  the  best  of 
care,  and  perhaps  made  a  finer  show  than  the  facts  war 
ranted.  Some  of  the  galled-backed,  grass-fed  old  cattle 
near  her  turned  their  heads  to  mark  her  airs,  with  a  sort 
of  slow  and  surprised  disapproval  in  their  meek  and  jaded 
eyes. 

"  I  hev  hearn  that  sayin'  all  my  days,  —  daddy  trot, 
mammy  trot,  colt  ca-a-nt  pace,"  the  parson's  son  reiterated, 
with  a  long  lingering  twang  upon  the  negative  declaration. 

"  This  filly  kin,"  stoutly  asseverated  Teck.  "  She  kin  go 
all  the  gaits.  She  kin  pace.  An'  she  kin  trot  like  a  fox, 
an'  run  like  a  deer,  an'  walk  like  a  cat  on  a  pallet." 

';  I  '11  bet  ye  a  dollar  an'  a  half,"  said  the  parson's  son, 
"  ez  this  hyar  hoss-critter  o'  mine  kin  beat  her  enny  gait 
she  's  a  mind  ter  travel.  I  dare  ye  put  her  out  now,  an'  try 
her  along  the  road  ter  the  sulphur  spring  —  toler'ble  level 
all  the  way." 

The  hoss-critter  was  a  bay,  furnished  with  the  usual 
complement  of  ribs  evidently,  and  with  a  tail  and  mane  that 
seemed  sunburned  a  dull  yellow,  so  unnatural  was  the  color ; 
but  he  picked  up  his  feet  well,  he  was  about  sixteen  hands 
high,  and  according  to  the  mountain  estimate  of  speed  he 
had  a  speedy  look. 

Teck  had  put  his  foot  into  the  stirrup ;  there  was  a  stir  of 
excitement  in  the  crowd.  Half  a  dozen  were  backing  the 


104       THE  DESPOT   OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE. 

little  mare,  but  the  sunburned  nag  had  his  friends  too,  and 
a  spirited  clamor  arose.  Upon  it  Eli  Strobe's  bass  voice 
boomed  suddenly  :  — 

"  I  warn  ye  now,  hoss-racin'  an'  a-bettin'  on  it  air  agin 
the  law ;  an'  ef  ye  boys  ondertake  ter  bet  yer  money  an' 
race  yer  bosses,  I  '11  ondertake  ter  arrest  ye.  I  be  con 
stable  yit."  He  had  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and  he  strode 
a  few  paces  to  and  fro  in  the  crowd,  his  hat  pulled  down 
over  his  lowering  eyes,  from  which  shot  now  and  then  a 
watchful  surly  side-glance.  The  young  men  were  arrang 
ing  to  start  together  from  an  oak-tree  at  the  farther  end  of 
the  clearing.  They  gave  no  heed  to  the  threat  of  the  con 
stable.  An  elderly  farmer  assumed  the  negative  in  the  dis 
cussion  :  — 

"  Shucks,  Eli,  ain't  I  seen  races  run  yander  ter  Glaston, 
an*  ain't  they  got  a  reg'lar  race-track  thar  ?  " 

"  That 's  'cordin'  ter  law,"  said  the  officer.  "  The  law  's 
mighty  partic'lar  in  the  diff'unces  it  makes.  Racin'  at  a 
reg'lar  race-track  ain't  no  harm,  an'  bettin'  ain't  nuther, 
kase  it 's  puttin'  suthin'  in  the  State's  pocket,  bein'  ez  the 
race-track  folks  hev  ter  pay  fur  a  license.  But  racin'  on  a 
common  road  an'  a-bettin'  demau'lizes  the  young  men  an' 
air  agin  the  dignity  o'  the  State."  He  still  stood  with  his 
hands  in  his  pockets,  balancing  himself  alternately  on  the 
heels  and  the  toes  of  his  boots.  "  The  State 's  mighty 
partic'lar." 

The  singular  logic  of  this  utterance  occasioned  no  sur 
prise.  Unsophisticated  as  his  auditors  were,  they  were  far 
too  wise  to  reason  with  the  law.  They  stood  meditating  on 
this  view,  chewing  hard,  and  looking  vaguely  about  them, 
hardly  wondering  whether  the  young  men  would  balk  them 
of  their  sport  in  deference  to  the  constable's  threat,  or 
whether  they  would  persist  and  ride  a  race  on  the  common 
road,  thus  doing  a  damage  to  the  dignity  of  the  State. 

"  Ye  jes'  let  'em  alone,"  remonstrated  the  old  farmer. 
"  Ye  air  sech  a  stirrer  up  o'  strife,  Eli,  through  tryin'  ter  be 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOM^EDGE    COVE.        105 

sech  a  stickler  fur  the  law.  'T  ain't  yer  business  ter  be  so 
tarrifyin'  ter  the  kentry." 

The  horse-trade  was  complete,  the  exchange  made,  the 
boot  paid,  and  the  stranger  from  North  Carolina  had  left 
the  Settlement.  Gideon  Dake,  satisfied  with  his  acquisi 
tion,  mounted  the  roan  steed  and  trotted  about  for  a  time, 
showing  its  paces  to  the  crowd.  Presently  he  dismounted, 
and  looked  the  animal  over.  Some  of  his  friends  came  up, 
and,  with  the  unerring  perspicacity  of  that  genus  exerted 
upon  the  new  purchase,  their  comments  roused  his  anxiety. 
He  turned  from  them  in  alarm,  after  a  few  minutes.  4k  Eli," 
he  said,  in  confused  haste,  ''  do  ye  know  ennything  'bout'n 
a  horse's  eyes  ?  I  be  sort'n  'feard  he  ;s  moon-eyed,  or 
suthin'.  Don't  his  eyes  look  cur'ous  ter  you-uns  ?  " 

Strobe  took  hold  of  the  headstall,  and  the  horse,  uneasy 
at  being  stared  oat  of  countenance,  tossed  his  head  hastily 
backward. 

"  I  can't  see  the  critter,"  said  Strobe,  once  more  pulling 
the  animal's  head  down  to  his  own  shorter  stature. 

"  He  could  n't  be  blind,  or  lacking  eyesight,  could  he, 
Eli  ?  Hey  !  Hey  !  Hello  thar  !  Hev  that  thar  North 
Ca'liny  fox  gone  ? "  Dake  called  out  to  a  man  near  the 
blacksmith  shop.  "  He  hev  gone !  He  hev  gone,"  in  fren 
zied  accents,  "  He  hev  gone  ter  —  I  dunno  whar  !  —  with  my 
sound  mare  an'  five  dollars  boot !  "  He  made  a  pass  with 
his  hand  before  the  eyes  of  the  animal,  who  winked  vio 
lently  and  tossed  up  his  head.  But  that  might  have  been 
only  because  he  felt  the  wind  of  the  motion.  His  unwilling 
owner  moved  back  a  pace,  and  taking  his  hat  from  his  head 
—  a  large  dark  object  —  passed  it  quickly  up  and  down, 
too  far  for  the  animal  to  feel  the  stir  in  the  air,  yet  near 
enough  to  alarm  or  surprise  him  if  he  could  see  it.  The 
constable  stood  looking  on  with  interest,  awaiting  the  result 
of  the  experiment,  when  a  sudden  thunder  of  galloping 
hoofs  smote  the  air. 

He  turned  to  see  in  full  progress  the  race  he  had  inter- 


106   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOM  SEDGE  COVE. 

dieted.  Along  the  sandy  slope  Jepson's  little  mare  led  five 
others,  bounding  under  whip  and  spur,  her  head  stretched 
out  long  and  straight,  her  tail  and  inane  flying,  her  body 
close  to  the  ground,  the  dust  rising  in  clouds  beneath  her 
hoofs. 

It  was  a  rash  thing  to  do,  and  Eli  Strobe,  one  of  the  most 
reasonable  of  men,  would  perchance  never  have  risked  it 
save  for  the  applause  that  greeted  her ;  one  quavering  voice 
arose,  then  the  rotund  swelling  of  cheers.  He  could  not 
endure  to  see  the  race  run  and  applauded  in  open  defiance 
of  the  law.  He  rushed  out  to  meet  the  animal,  and  spring 
ing  at  her  neck  he  caught  the  bridle,  throwing  his  full 
weight  upon  it.  The  mare,  frightened,  reared,  despite  the 
heavy  burden  at  her  head.  She  pawed  the  air  with  her 
forefeet.  Then,  as  she  broke  loose,  the  man  fell  with  a  ter 
rible  wrench,  and  away  she  went,  with  a  cloud  of  dust  skir- 
rying  after  her  like  a  witches'  dance. 

Jepsoii  reined  up  on  the  opposite  rise,  for  he  reached  it 
the  next  moment ;  the  other  riders  had  not  followed.  He 
saw  their  horses  shy  away,  one  by  one,  from  the  prostrate 
figure  that  seemed  a  lifeless  heap  in  the  road.  Did  it  stir  ? 
Or  did  the  bystanders,  rushing  to  it,  move  it  in  some  way, 
seeking  to  aid  ?  A  bloody  face  was  upturned ;  the  crowd 
interposed,  and  he  saw  no  more. 

At  one  side  of  the  road,  unheeding  the  tragedy,  stood  the 
man  who  doubted  his  horse's  sight,  still  waving  his  hat  up 
and  down  before  the  creature's  eyes,  to  discover  if  he  would 
flinch. 


VII. 

IT  was  only  for  a  short  time  that  the  wounded  man  lay 
as  one  dead.  His  consciousness  gradually  returned  ;  his 
eyelids  fluttered  and  opened  slowly  ;  he  gazed  about  with 
a  dazed  and  fluctuating  attention,  while  he  still  remained, 
gasping  and  bleeding,  upon  the  ground.  Then  by  a  mighty 
effort  he  rallied  his  faculties  ;  with  the  recognition  of  his 
own  lapsed  identity,  his  normal  expression  returned  to  the 
quivering  features,  in  lieu  of  the  pallid,  absent,  alien  look 
they  had  worn.  This  was  Eli  Strobe  again ;  badly  shaken, 
but  still  Eli  Strobe.  He  struggled  to  his  feet,  and,  tremu 
lous  and  silent,  he  took  his  way  down  the  path  toward  his 
home.  A  few  officious  friends  strove  to  assist  him  as  he 
went,  and  they  kept  pace  with  his  tottering  gait.  Others 
lingered  at  the  forge,  looking  vaguely  after  him,  and  then 
at  Teck  Jepson,  who  was  on  the  crest  of  the  hill,  under  the 
broad  spread  of  the  oak  boughs,  still  mounted,  and  gazing 
back  upon  the  scene.  The  mare,  so  suddenly  checked  in 
the  race,  was  restive,  and  impatiently  pawed  and  tossed  her 
head,  then  reared  and  plunged  as  the  rider  turned  back. 
More  than  once  she  bolted  and  tried  to  run,  the  recollection 
of  the  race  so  abruptly  cut  short  still  rousing  her  spirit  and 
vibrating  in  her  strong  muscles.  The  curb  held  her  to  a 
slow  gait,  but  her  ears  were  laid  back,  giving  her  a  vixenish 
look,  and  her  full  eye  rolled  as  she  came  mincing  sidewavs 
down  the  hill,  ready  to  jump  at  any  moment,  her  whole  as 
pect  oddly  incongruous  with  the  pale,  anxious  face  of  the 
rider. 

It  was  he,  doubtless,  that  first  of  all  the  crowd  saw  a  light 
figure,  swift  and  lithe,  running  at  full  speedy  albeit  the  hill 


108   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMS  EDGE  COVE. 

was  rugged  and  steep,  to  meet  the  wounded  man,  —  now 
disappearing  amongst  the  laurel,  and  again  flying  along  an 
open,  level  stretch ;  her  curling  hair  floating  in  the  wind, 
her  eyes  dilated,  her  face  pallid,  her  breath  coming  in  quick 
gasps.  She  had  seen  it  all  from  the  porch,  Jepson  thought. 
She  must  know  that  he  was  not  to  blame.  He  drew  a  long 
breath  of  relief,  and  urged  the  mare  down  the  hill  toward 
the  men.  He  was  near  enough  to  hear  her  words,  as  she 
dashed  in  amongst  them. 

"  Leave  him  be,"  she  said,  with  didactic  composure.  "  I 
be  goin'  ter  lead  him  home.  I  '11  keer  fur  him." 

She  offered  to  take  the  arm  that  the  blacksmith  held. 

"  Don't  ye  know,  Marcelly,  ez  I  be  a  heap  stronger  'n 
ye  ?  "  remonstrated  Clem  Sanders. 

"  Naw  ;  Marcelly  '11  take  keer  o'  me.  Whar  's  Mar 
celly  ?  "  piped  out  Eli  Strobe  in  a  weak  voice.  "  Whar  's 
Marcelly  ?  Marcelly  ?  "  he  reiterated,  as  if  he  clung  to 
the  familiar  name  like  a  landmark  amidst  some  strangely 
wrought  chaos,  —  "  Marcelly  ?  '"' 

He  leaned  upon  her  arm,  and  he  turned  toward  her  now 
and  then  with  an  uncertain  look  in  his  eye.  u  Marcelly  ?  " 
he  said,  with  the  tone  of  one  suddenly  awakened. 

"  Hyar  me,"  her  soft  voice  responded. 

The  blank  stare  in  his  face  gave  way  to  an  evident  satis 
faction.  He  nodded  once  or  twice,  and  trudged  on. 

Presently  —  once  more  an  abrupt  pause.  "  Marcelly  ?  " 
again  with  a  poignant  uncertainty  and  interrogation.  And 
again  "  Hyar  me,"  in  dulcet,  reassuring  tones. 

She  could  even  conjure  a  smile  into  her  pale  face  and  a 
glancing  lustre  into  her  distended  eyes,  while  he  looked  un 
steadily  and  doubtfully  at  her.  But  when  he  began  to  plod 
on  once  more,  the  blood  dripping  from  the  cut  in  his  head 
clown  upon  his  dust-grimed  clothes,  muttering  now  and 
again  "Marcelly?"  as  if  this  were  some  cabalistic  phrase, 
hard  to  grasp,  and  when  once  lost  never  to  be  found  again, 
a  vague  terror  overspread  her  features  and  shone  in  her 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.   109 

wild  and  excited  eyes.  Once  or  twice  she  turned,  and 
looked  an  appealing,  piteous  inquiry  at  the  men  who  walked 
beside  her,  a  blank,  dull  surprise  on  their  faces. 

When  Isabel,  who  had  followed  her  sister  more  slowly 
because  of  the  obstacles  the  sharp  stones  and  briers  fur 
nished  her  bare,  sunburnt  feet,  joined  them,  he  stretched 
out  his  hand  gropingly,  and  laid  it  on  her  head.  "  Ye  air 
—  Is'bel !  "  he  declared,  with  an  evident  effort  of  recog 
nition. 

"  Laws-a-massy,  yes,"  retorted  the  pert  maiden.  "  I 
would  n't  be  nobody  else  fur  nuthin'." 

He  kept  his  hand  on  her  head  as  she  walked  beside  him, 
albeit  she  remonstrated  that  he  pulled  her  scalp  backward  ; 
and  as  he  went  he  muttered,  "  Marcelly  —  Is'bel,"  and 
again,  *•  Marcelly  —  Is'bel." 

It  seemed  a  long  time  before  they  reached  the  bars  of 
the  fence,  and  went  down  the  broad  turn-row  of  the  field, 
through  the  green  and  glistening  Indian  corn,  to  the  door- 
yard  of  the  little  cabin. 

One  might  feel  in  these  unshaded  and  loamy  slopes  the 
full  richness  of  the  expending  spirit  of  the  summer  sun,  the 
responsive  climaxing  ripeness  of  the  herbage  of  the  earth. 
So  broad,  so  glossy,  were  the  great  leaves  ;  so  full  of  vigor 
and  grace,  so  definite  and  erect,  the  tall  and  stalwart  stalks ! 
And  how  somnolently  melodious,  how  charged  with  languor 
ous  post-meridian  sentiment,  was  the  song  of  the  cicada  that 
issued  forth !  A  lizard,  swift  and  noiseless,  slipped  across 
the  path,  his  fine  yet  dull  colors  showing  in  the  light.  The 
shadows  of  the  chestnut-tree  at  the  gate  seemed  black  with 
all  this  yellow  glare.  A  cat  slept  on  the  rickety  gate-post, 
despite  the  enmity  of  the  dog  of  the  "  frequent  visitor," 
who  had  spent  his  limited  energies  in  barking  and  bound 
ing  about  it,  and  now  sat  and  besieged  it  in  silent  patience 
and  with  a  lolling  tongue.  The  vines  were  fluttering  about 
the  porch  ;  the  passage  between  the  two  rooms  was  dark 
and  cool.  Teck  Jepson,  following,  watched  the  group  dis- 


110   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

appear  within  the  door.  Then  he  dismounted,  and  hitched 
the  mare  to  the  gate-post ;  the  dog  of  the  "  frequent  visitor  " 
relaxed  his  vigilance  to  greet  the  new-comer  with  an  amity 
that  expressed  all  the  compliments  of  the  season.  Jepson 
gave  him  no  notice  ;  hut  the  mare  shied  violently  and  backed 
her  ears  as  he  leaped  about  her,  and  the  cat  on  the  gate-post 
took  advantage  of  the  opportunity,  and  ran  up  the  chestnut- 
tree. 

Jepson  hesitated ;  he  started  slowly  along  the  path 
amongst  the  luxuriant  grass  and  weeds,  where  a  coterie  of 
turkeys  and  ducks  were  pecking  about;  then  he  turned 
back,  and  stood  leaning  with  one  arm  upon  the  gate-post, 
his  hat  drawn  down  over  a  moody,  anxious  brow,  now  look 
ing  meditatively  at  the  little  house,  as  silent  and  as  solemn 
as  the  vast  dark  mountain  behind  it,  and  again  vaguely 
glancing  toward  the  forge,  where  he  could  see  the  gossips 
clustering  around  the  door,  the  huddled  horses  at  the  rack, 
the  slow  ruminative  oxen  unyoked  and  lying  about  in  the 
clearing,  and  here  and  there  a  cumbrous  white-covered 
wagon.  Above  were  the  great  cliffs,  beginning  to  show 
a  sunset  glow ;  and  now  and  then  might  be  discerned 
in  the  forest  the  pathway  of  the  invisible  wind  in  the 
fainter  tints  of  the  reverse  side  of  the  leaves,  upturned 
under  even  this  light  step,  and  marking  a  narrow  line 
amongst  the  dense  and  dark  foliage,  as  it  stole  down  the 
slopes. 

Suddenly,  men  silent  and  with  grave  faces  came  out  of 
the  house.  His  heart  gave  a  great  throb  —  their  faces  were 
so  like  those  that  men  bore  at  the  little  rural  funerals  that 
had  hitherto  formed,  in  his  experience,  the  chief  expression 
of  the  majesty  of  death,  and  the  more  terrible  irrevocability 
of  opportunity,  —  their  manner  so  like  the  cumbrous,  awk 
ward  show  of  respect  and  sympathy  for  the  mourners.  It 
seemed  strange  to  him  that  he  should  note  at  that  moment 
—  so  vagrant  are  our  thoughts,  so  little  held  in  leash  by 
the  will  —  how  still  the  mountain  stood,  how  fairly  the  sun 


THE  DESPOT   OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       Ill 

shone,  how  freshly  blew  the  wind,  unmindful,  unmindful ! 
The  soul  is  the  alien  on  the  earth,  and  the  earth  heeds  not 
the  in-coming  of  this  strange  essence,  nor  the  out-going. 
A  strong  trembling  fell  upon  every  fibre.  He  looked  sud 
denly  gaunt  as  he  strained  forward,  whispering  with  pale 
lips,  "  Dead  ?  Dead  ?  " 

Their  eyes  with  one  accord  rested  upon  him.  Clem 
Sanders  slowly  shook  his  head ;  then  turned  to  Bassett,  as 
if  doubtful  nevertheless,  and  desiring  confirmation.  Once 
more  Jepson's  dry  lips  framed  the  word  "  Dead  ?  "  but  no 
sound  came.  fc 

"  Naw,"  said  Bassett,  "  not  ez  ye  mought  say  dead  — 
but  "  —  He  paused,  and  shook  his  head. 

"  Naw,  he  ain't  dead,"  said  Dake  hastily ;  "  he  may  be 
like  ter  die,  fur  all  I  know.  He  be  out'n  his  head,  an'  yit 
he  ain't  out'n  his  head.  I  never  hear  sech  talk."  Then 
speaking  to  Bassett  he  added,  "  Ye  mought  tell  Teck 
a  leetle  quicker,  kno\vin'  ez  he  hev  got  ter  answer 
fur  it." 

Jepson  turned,  with  a  flush  and  a  flash  of  the  eye.  "  Ye 
'low  ez^  I  be  a-keerin'  fur  that  —  the  answerin'  fur  it !  Naw, 
sir !  It 's  the  doin'  o'  sech  ez  be  a-killin'  me.  I  would  n't 
hev  done  it !  I  would  n't  hev  done  it !  "  He  struck  his 
hands  despairingly  together  above  his  head.  Then  his  con 
sciousness  of  their  entertained  eyes,  which  expressed  a  sort 
of  sub-acute  unrealized  pleasure  in  the  painful  excitement, 
asserted  itself,  and  he  leaned  passively  against  the  post, 
silent  and  unresponsive  when  they  spoke  ;  and  presently 
they  all  passed  through  the  gate,  along  the  turn-row  and  up 
the  slope  to  the  forge,  to  detail  the  news  to  the  waiting- 
crowd,  and  hear  in  turn  the  speculations  elicited. 

He  stood  as  still  as  if  he  had  turned  to  stone,  his  elbow 
on  the  post,  the  mare's  graceful  head  close  to  the  broad 
brim  of  his  hat,  the  dog  of  the  "  frequent  visitor,"  an  ani 
mal  of  facile  allegiance,  at  his  heavily  booted  and  spurred 
feet ;  he  did  not  stir  even  when  he  saw  the  door  open  and 


112   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

shut  slowly,  and  Marcella,  still  pale-faced  and  large-eyed, 
emerge  upon  the  porch.  She  stood,  evidently  preoccupied, 
for  a  moment  amidst  the  luxuriant  jack-bean  blossoms,  pur 
ple  and  white,  that  overran  the  rickety  little  structure. 
Then,  although  her  eyes  had  rested  on  him  some  little  time, 
she  seemed  suddenly  to  perceive  him.  He  could  not  inter 
pret  the  expression  on  her  face.  Her  light  figure  was 
poised  for  a  moment,  as  if  she  were  uncertain  whether  she 
might  advance  or  disappear.  Then  she  came  to  the  verge 
of  the  porch,  leaning  forward  and  lifting  the  blossoming 
tendrils  that  she  might  look  through  at  him.  She  stretched 
forth  her  hand  and  beckoned  him.  His  blood  gave  a  great 
bound  in  his  veins.  He  felt  the  hot  color  in  his  cheek. 
His  heart  was  beating  so  wildly,  so  heavily,  that  he  could 
not  hear  the  rustle  of  the  lush  grass  as  his  quick  strides 
bore  him  across  the  yard,  or  the  abrupt  and  frantic  outcry 
of  the  frightened  poultry  scuttling  away.  There  were 
unwonted  tears  in  his  eyes  ;  he  could  have  wept  in  glad 
humility  for  the  joy  of  her  generosity.  He  hastily  stretched 
forth  his  hand  to  clasp  hers  which  held  the  vine,  but  she 
withdrew  it  abruptly,  and  he  only  clasped  the  vines,  warm 
from  the  touch  of  her  hand.  As  he  looked  up  at  her  she 
looked  down  at  him,  inscrutably. 

"  What  war  ye  a-waitin'  thar  fur  ?  "  she  demanded  in  a 
low  voice,  and  with  an  anxious  glance  toward  the  window 
close  at  hand. 

"  Ter  know  ef  thar  be  ennything  I  kin  do  fur  ye,"  he 
said. 

She  looked  away  at  the  refulgent  golden-red  glow  of  sun 
set-tide,  that  filled  all  the  air  over  the  wooded  valley  and 
the  mountain  above,  till  it  touched  the  serene  and  colorless 
east. 

Then  she  said  slowly,  "Yes, — ye  kin  do  suthin'  fur  me." 
Her  eyes  met  his.  "  Go  up  ter  the  mounting  —  an'  kern 
back  no  mo'  !  "  Her  voice  was  intense  and  low.  Her 
straight,  defiant  brows  were  knitted  ;  her  eyes,  once  so  £oft? 


THE  DESPOT    OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       113 

had  a  fierce  glitter.  "  I  never  want  ter  see  yer  face  agin 
whilst  I  live." 

"  Marcelly  !  "  he  faltered,  amazed. 

"  Go  up  ter  the  mounting  !  "  she  reiterated.  "  An'  when, 
mebbe,  ez  the  time  goes,  ye  'low  I  mought  be  changin'  my 
mind,  remember  I  tuk  the  trouble  ter  call  ye  hyar,  an'  tell  ye 
thar  never  war  a  woman  ez  hated  a  man  like  I  hate  you-uns. 
Some  o'  'em  hated  one  another  in  the  Bible,  did  n't  they  ? 
Study  'bout'n  'em.  Fur  none  o'  'em  hated  like  me  !  " 

"Marcelly  !  "  he  cried  again,  pleadingly.  **  I  never  done 
it  a-purpose." 

She  let  her  hands  fall  on  either  side  with  a  gesture  of 
indifference.  "  Ye  mought  ez  well." 

She  knew  her  power.  She  saw  his  pain,  and  she  rejoiced 
in  the  retributive  pangs. 

"  I  war  all  day  a-tryin'  ter  holp  him  in  the  'lection,"  he 
protested.  "  I  did  everything  I  could  fur  him.  'T  war  his 
fault,  — an'  ef  ye  seen  it  ye  air  'bleeged  ter  know  it." 

She  looked  at  him  with  disdainful  eyes.  "  Mought  save 
yerse'f  from  the  court  that-a-way,  mought  n't  ye  ?  But  ye 
won't  hanker  fur  Sol'mon  ter  try  yer  case,  will  ye  ?  " 

Her  face  was  suddenly  smitten  with  a  ghastly  look,  as 
she  realized  what  that  possible  future  for  him  involved  for 
her  father. 

"  Marcelly ! "  he  cried,  in  pity  for  her,  divining  her 
thought. 

She  recovered  in  a  moment.  She  bore  a  stanch  heart 
within  her. 

"  Go  up  ter  the  mounting  !  "  She  lifted  her  hand,  and 
pointed  through  the  flowers  to  the  stern  fastnesses  against 
the  sky.  "  An'  ef  I  could  hev  it  so  by  sayin'  '  Go  out'n  the 
world,'  I  'd  say  it !  " 

She  turned  from  the  vines,  —  a  light  step,  the  flutter  of 
a  garment,  the  cautious  closing  of  a  door,  and  she  was  gone. 

He  waited  for  a  time,  believing  that  she  would  relent ; 
she  could  but  come  back  with  some  word  of  mercy,  or  par- 


114   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

don,  or  cheer  for  him.  He  still  held  the  vines  aside,  and 
looked  through  into  the  open  passage  of  the  house,  fearful 
that  she  might  come  forth  and  think  him  gone,  not  seeing 
him  here.  It  was  strangely  still ;  presently  a  rooster, 
bronze  and  red  and  yellow,  sprang  upon  the  puncheons  of 
the  passage,  and  muttering  inarticulately  to  himself  strutted 
back  and  forth,  his  claws  ploddingly  audible.  And  now  he 
was  gone.  Upon  the  post  of  the  porch,  close  at  hand,  a 
tree-toad  began  to  shrill.  Jepson  saw  the  creature  after  a 
little,  —  a  dull  greenish-brown  color  against  the  weathered 
gray  of  the  unpainted  wood.  How  acute  his  senses  were ! 
He  was  conscious  of  noticing  the  curious  climbing  feet  of 
the  tiny  reptile,  as  he  stood.  Women  after  a  time  came  to 
the  house  with  baskets  on  their  arms,  containing  infallible 
domestic  remedies  or  bundles,  hoping  to  supply  some  house 
hold  deficiency.  They  looked  curiously  at  him  ;  two  or  three 
made  a  motion  as  if  they  would  speak,  then  desisted,  and 
went  their  way.  He  cared  nothing  for  his  pale  and  agitated 
face,  his  wild,  eager  eyes.  His  pride  seemed  spent.  He 
was  glad  they  had  seen  him.  They  would  tell  her  he  waited 
without.  And  surely  she  would  then  come  with  some  word 
to  salve  the  wounds  she  had  dealt.  He  would  be  grateful 
for  so  little.  He  could  wait  so  long. 

Not  so  long  as  he  fancied.  There  came  through  the 
window  the  sound  of  an  unfamiliar  voice,  he  thought  at  first, 
strangely  mouthing,  and  presently  rising  into  a  dolorous 
cry.  He  listened,  trembling  guiltily.  It  was  Eli  Strobe's 
voice.  And  when  he  realized  this  he  could  hear  no  more, 
—  his  fortitude  was  overtaxed.  He  could  wait  for  no  re 
ward,  within  the  sound  of  those  tones. 

He  turned,  strode  swiftly  to  the  gate,  flung  himself  upon 
the  restive  mare,  and  the  quick  thud  of  her  hoofs  along  the 
beaten  ways  of  the  turn-row  announced  his  departure  to 
those  within.  He  was  going  up  the  mountain,  as  she  had 
bidden  him.  He  was  going  —  he  cared  not  where  —  to 
the  mountains  as  instinctively  as  a  bird  might  seek  the 
woods. 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       Ho 

They  called  to  him,  as  he  passed  the  forge,  for  news  of 
Eli  Strobe.  He  shook  his  head  ;  he  had  no  news  to  give. 
The  votes  had  been  counted,  and  the  local  politicians,  even 
in  this  hour  of  stress,  did  not  fail  to  communicate  the  fact, 
and  one  or  two  triumphant  souls  shouted  to  him,  as  he 
spurred  away,  that  Eli  Strobe  was  reflected.  He  did  not 
slacken  his  speed,  for  all  the  rough  road,  nor  draw  rein  in 
fording  the  plunging  torrent.  The  mare's  neck  was  vainly 
downstretched  toward  the  limpid  swiftness  ;  its  very  breath, 
the  dank  perfumes  of  its  banks,  indescribably  refreshing 
at  the  end  of  the  sultry  day.  The  sun  was  slowly  with 
drawing  its  fervid  presence.  The  wind  rode  abreast  up 
and  up  the  mountain.  Jepson  seemed  to  go  to  meet  the 
night,  for  the  shadows  trooped  from  the  east,  and  only  the 
lengthening  miles  of  valley  and  steeps  behind  him  were 
pensively  splendid  in  the  rich  afterglow  of  the  prodigal  day  ; 
to  meet  the  night,  heralded  in  the  melancholy  gloom  under 
the  pines,  in  the  vague,  indefinable  pain  with  which  we 
loose  our  hold  on  each  successive  day,  in  the  sense  of  quiet 
and  silence  lacking  in  the  gorgeous,  albeit  noiseless,  pageant 
of  sunset-tide ;  to  meet  the  night,  with  its  pensive  presenti 
ments  of  sorrow,  its  prophetic  intimation  of  some  longer 
space  of  null  and  dark  futurity.  The  mare  climbed  the 
rugged  ways  now  with  a  freshened  will.  Home,  that  even 
the  animals  cherish,  lay  at  the  end  of  the  road,  and  she  be 
gan  to  recognize  her  rider's  intention  thither.  As  she 
threaded  the  tangles  of  the  laurel,  a  faint,  blood-curdling 
sound  smote  her  quick  senses.  A  wolf  was  howling  afar 
off  in  these  primeval  fastnesses.  She  snorted  as  she  went, 
and  trembled.  A  star  was  at  the  zenith.  A  great  fir 
seemed  to  touch  it  with  the  dark,  slender  line  of  its  spire. 
An  open,  rocky  space,  and  Jepson  could  see  the  dark  west 
ern  mountains,  all  glooming,  the  sunset  faded  out  save  for 
a  lingering  red  streak  along  the  horizon,  —  a  dull  and  dusky 
tint  in  the  closing  obscurity.  Below,  mists  were  a-stalking 
down  the  valley  ways,  spectral  in  the  vague  light  that  barely 


116       THE  DESPOT   OF  BROOMStiDGE   COVE. 

made  them  visible.  They  claimed  that  weird  and  ghostly 
hour ;  and  now  and  then  one  peered  out  from  amongst  the 
crags  hard  by,  and  drew  back  aghast,  it  might  seem,  at  the 
sight  of  a  human  being  in  these  preemptions  of  solitude, 
where  it  should  meet  only  its  own  disembodied  kindred. 
The  mare  shied  from  them  with  dilated  eyes,  and  chafed 
at  the  bit,  and  plunged  and  fretted  because  of  the  momentary 
pause. 

Jepson  marked,  far  as  it  was,  the  lights  in  the  depression 
where  Broomsedge  lay,  —  like  a  skein  of  fireflies,  —  and  he 
gazed  down  with  a  pained  and  throbbing  heart,  a  troublous 
remorse  and  a  contradictory  sense  of  self-exculpation,  a 
poignant  sympathy  with  Marcella,  and,  nevertheless,  a  pul 
sing,  sensitive  resentment.  "  'T  war  a  accident,  —  nuthin' 
but  a  accident,"  he  muttered  to  himself.  And  then  he  bit 
his  lip,  remembering  her  caustic  jeer  of  utilizing  this  inter 
pretation.  Once  more  the  howl  of  the  wolf,  strangely 
nearer  than  before. 

"  How  them  critters  kin  travel !  "  he  said. 

Then  even  his  strong  hand  had  much  ado  to  hold  the 
mare,  snorting  and  plunging,  and  pushing  now  through  the 
laurel,  now  amidst  the  gaunt  and  sterile  cliffs  on  the  toil 
some  homeward  way,  whether  he  would  or  no.  The  rocks 
echoed  her  hoof-beats ;  she  seemed  to  the  listening  ear  the 
first  of  a  file  of  horse,  —  a  phantom  file,  for  here  and  there, 
where  the  road  was  open,  and  the  dull  light  still  showed  its 
curves,  it  was  visibly  vacant,  for  all  the  measured  pace  that 
sounded  between  the  crags.  How  lonely  were  these  great 
rocks  in  the  wilderness  and  the  vast  silences  !  With  what 
precipitate  avidity  they  caught  at  a  sound,  repeating  it  from 
one  to  another,  as  if  it  had  some  strange  significance,  some 
prophecy,  perchance,  that  they  should  hoard  against  its  ful 
fillment.  Of  all  the  forms  of  inanimate  nature,  they  alone 
seemed  to  him  sentient  in  some  sort ;  and  appealing  from 
their  isolation,  they  alone  sought  to  communicate  with  crea 
tures  endowed  with  a  motor  life,  through  those  mysteries  of 
the  elastic  air,  set  vibrating  with  a  word. 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       117 

"  Marcelly  !  "  he  cried  out,  with  some  wild  desire  to  hear 
the  wilderness  voice  her  name.  The  whole  world  seemed 
to  respond  with  a  subdued  acclaim. 

"  Marcelly  !  "  the  mellow  tone  rang  from  the  heights 
above.  "  Marcelly !  "  thU  tender  echoes  of  the  valley  re 
plied.  And  now  a  crystalline  fine  vibration  from  the  upper 
atmosphere,  "  Marcelly  !  "  as  if  the  magic  word  were  spoken 
in  the  strange  scenes  of  that  lucent  and  glittering  star. 

He  recovered  in  a  moment  his  normal  stolidity.  He  would 
have  hushed,  if  he  could,  the  voices  he  had  summoned.  The 
mare  quickened  her  pace  anew.  As  he  emerged  from  the 
densities  of  the  wilderness  into  the  high  vantage-ground  of 
Bowles's  clearing,  the  vast  splendor  of  the  thickly  instarred, 
moonless  sky  was  before  him,  —  so  far  and  foreign  it  was, 
so  dark  the  earth  lay  beneath,  so  drear.  And  he  hardly 
cared  that  the  dull  orange  glow  coming  from  the  notch  was 
the  light  of  his  hearthstone,  although  the  young  mare  whick 
ered  gleefully  at  the  sight,  and  went  up  the  long,  steep  hill 
at  a  prancing  pace,  and  with  sundry  plunges  that  threatened 
to  unseat  her  practiced  rider. 

He  took  the  saddle  from  her  back  as  soon  as  he  dis 
mounted,  —  none  too  quickly,  for  she  instantly  rolled  over 
upon  the  ground,  her  iron-shod  feet  awkwardly  waving  in 
the  air.  Then,  as  she  gathered  herself  up  with  a  snort  of 
satisfaction,  she  set  out  for  the  barn  and  the  water-trough 
with  a  capable  air,  evidently  used  to  serving  her  own  sup 
per  and  making  her  own  bed. 

As  Jepson  entered  the  firelit  room,  Ben  Bowles,  sitting 
beside  the  hearth,  his  elbows  on  his  knees,  his  pipe  in  his 
mouth,  roused  himself  from  a  sort  of  lethargy  of  idleness, 
and  a  slow  smile  began  to  make  more  distinctly  indented 
the  many  wrinkles  around  his  mouth  and  hay-colored  beard. 
His  mild  eyes  shone  with  such  pleasure  as  so  definite  a  clod 
might  be  presumed  to  feel,  but  he  glanced  dubiously  at  his 
wife  before  he  ventured  to  speak. 

"  Air  that  you-uns,  Teck  ?  Powerful  glad  ter  see  ye 
back  hyar,"  he  said  cordially. 


118   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

"  I  ain't  company  enough  fur  him,  Teck,"  said  Mrs. 
Bowles,  with  an  assertive  smile,  displaying  all  her  fine  teeth. 

"  Laws-a-massy,  jes'  listen  at  M'ria,  now  !  "  Her  hus 
band  gallantly  scouted  the  idea,  but  he  looked  somewhat 
deprecatory  of  having  laid  himself  liable  to  this  interpreta 
tion. 

Jepson  glanced  about  him,  heedless  of  both. 

"  Whar  's  the  chill'ii  ?  "  he  demanded.  "  Gone  ter  bed  ?  " 

"  Whar  ye  reckon  ?  "  retorted  Mrs.  Bowles,  with  a  flash 
of  her  bead-like  eyes.  "  Ye  s'pose  I  hev  made  sassingers 
or  minch-meat  out'n  'em?" 

"  Ye  air  ekal  ter  it,"  her  brother-in-law  ruthlessly  de 
clared. 

The  mild  Ben  Bowles  deserved,  perhaps,  a  better  fate 
than  the  continual  futility  of  his  efforts  to  preserve  the 
peace  about  him.  So  much  tact,  so  perfected  by  practice, 
seemed  wasted  here. 

"  Ha,  ha  !  "  He  forced  a  laugh,  affecting  to  interpret 
facetiously  the  retort  and  the  counter-retort.  "  Nare  one 
o'  'em  hev  got  meat  enough  on  thai*  bones  ter  be  wuth  the 
scrapin',  'ceptin'  it  air  Bob.  Ha,  ha  !  Bob  's  fat  enough." 

Jepson's  only  rejoinder  was  a  glance  of  scorn.  He  strode 
over  to  the  shadowy  corner  where  the  children  lay,  and 
looked  down  at  Sim's  pale,  unhappy  face,  with  its  marks  of 
sullen  sorrow  all  undispelled,  even  in  its  absent,  far-away 
expression.  Aminty's  had  the  solemnity  of  sleep  upon  it, 
and  her  tossed  and  tangled  hair  about  it.  Bob's  wide-open 
twinkling  hazel  eyes  shut  instantly  in  feigned  slumber  the 
moment  they  encountered  Jepson's.  The  diplomatist  of 
four  snored  gently. 

Jepson  made  no  comment,  but  turned  back  to  the  broad 
hearth,  slowly  divesting  himself  of  his  powder-horn  and 
shot-pouch.  The  firelight  glanced  upon  his  full  blue  eyes  ; 
the  fairness  of  his  brow  contrasted  sharply  with  his  sun-em 
browned  cheeks,  and  had  a  definite  line  across  it  where  the 
brim  of  his  hat  had  ceased  to  cast  its  shade.  The  spurs  on 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       119 

the  heels  of  his  long  boots,  that  reached  to  his  knee,  gave 
out  a  dull  metallic  glitter.  His  brown  jeans  coat  was  begirt 
by  a  broad  leather  belt,  and  his  massive,  well-formed  figure 
seemed  taller  than  usual,  since  the  others,  seated,  were  fain 
to  look  up.  Mrs.  Bowles's  eyes  had  a  certain  speculation 
in  their  bead-like  brightness,  as  she  sat  silently  gazing  at 
him  for  a  time. 

Then  suddenly,  '•  Ye  need  n't  be  holdin'  yer  jaw,  Teck. 
I  know  jes'  ez  well  ez  ef  I  hed  seen  him  ez  that  thar  Bob 
air  a-lyin'  thar  broad  awake,  like  a  fox,  or  possum,  or 
suthin',  though  he  hev  been  tole  forty  times  "  —  she  lifted 
her  voice  that  the  youth  should  hear  —  "  ez  the  devil  will 
kem  arter  him  an'  ketch  him  ef  he  waits  ter  go  ter  sleep  till 
the  house  be  dark.  1  tell  ye  now  what  I  'm  a-goin'ter  do.  I  'm 
a-goin'  ter  put  him  out'n  doors,  ter  keep  company  with  them 
t'other  night  rampagers,  —  bars,  ez  eat  fat  boys,  an  'painters, 
an'  sech.  An'  Bob  '11  feel  powerful  lonesome  out  thar  in 
the  dark  mountings,  a-tryin'  ter  git  away  from  'em,  this 
road  an'  that.  His  legs  air  short,  an'  he  can't  run  fas'.  An* 
he  be  so  fat  he  mus'  be  toler'ble  heavy  ter  hisself  ter  tote." 

There  was  a  vague  stir  under  the  quilts.  Even  the  small 
stoic  could  but  writhe  a  little  in  prophetic  anguish  at  this 
prospect. 

Jepson  turned  abruptly,  strode  again  to  the  bed,  caught 
the  child  by  the  collar  of  his  nightgown,  and  the  next  mo 
ment  Bob  was  sitting  in  his  chair  before  the  fire,  looking 
very  rotund  in  his  straight  garment,  and  gazing  with  wide, 
apprehensive  eyes  at  his  step-mother,  expectant  of  the  blow 
that  always  came  when  she  was  thwarted.  She  did  not 
deal  it  now.  She  was  constrained  by  the  eye  of  the  man 
as  he  stood  once  more  on  the  hearth,  busying  himself  with 
the  strap  that  held  his  powder-horn. 

"An'  when  enny  bars,  or  painters,  or  devils,  or  folks 
take  arter  ye,  Bob,  jes'  call  on  me,  sir.  an'  I  '11  tend  ter  'em." 
He  glanced  down,  and  nodded  convincingly. 

Bob  looked  up  at  the  big  man  with  a  grave  and  plump 


120       THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOM  SEDGE   COVE. 

countenance.  He  gave  a  little  sigh  of  relief,  but  he  did  not 
venture  upon  words.  His  pink  toes  were  more  rosy  in  the 
light  of  the  fire,  and  now  and  then  curled  in  the  enjoyment 
of  the  warmth,  for  the  night  was  chilly  on  the  mountain. 
His  great  wakeful  eyes  dwelt  on  the  flames.  He  filled  his 
little  armchair  very  comfortably,  and  his  hair,  standing  up 
straight  in  front,  gave  him  a  quaintly  grotesque  look. 

Ben  Bowles  skillfully  preserved  an 'air  of  unconsciousness 
of  the  clashing  in  the  domestic  circle.  Mrs  Bowles  seemed 
for  a  moment  likely  to  acquiesce  without  demur  in  the  rule 
of  the  stronger.  Then  a  flush  rose  through  her  clear  olive 
skin,  and  overspread  her  blunt  features.  Her  strong  white 
teeth  showed  in  a  satiric  smile.  That  added  significant 
glitter  in  her  small  dark  eves  struck  Jepson's  attention.  As 
he  held  the  powder-horn  in  his  hand  he  paused,  and  looked 
down  intently  at  her.  She  noted  his  glance.  Her  desire 
to  harass  was  strong,  but  she  could  not  restrain  her  caustic 
tongue,  or  she  might  have  baffled  his  curiosity. 

"  Keep  on,  Teck,"  she  said  sarcastically,  "  keep  on  the 
way  ye  air  a-goin'.  Set  pore  leetle  Bob  up  thar  ter  ketch 
his  death  o'  cold,  an'  take  an  axe  an'  hack  me  an'  Ben  up, 
an'  set  the  house  afire,  an'  —  ennything  !  Ye  air  ekal  ter 
ennything  arter  what  we  hev  hearn  ter-day." 

"  Hearn  what,  ter-day  ?  "  he  asked,  marveling  how  the 
news  of  the  disaster  had  reached  these  untrodden,  secluded 
wilds. 

"  Oh,  nuthin',"  she  said,  flashing  her  eyes  at  him. 

"  Laws-a-massy,  M'ria,"  Ben  Bowles  ventured  to  remon 
strate,  —  he  would  fain  have  ignored  the  whole  incident,  — 
"  let  Teck  tell  us  just  what  did  happen.  Mought  be  some 
mistake." 

She  laughed,  and  sneered  too.  "Toler'ble  large-sized 
mistake,  sartin,  ter  kill  Eli  Strobe  jes'  kase  his  darter 
would  n't  marry  ye  —  turned  ye  off  !  Gals  air  choosers 
one  time  in  thar  lives,  ennyhow."  She  tossed  her  head 
with  a  lively  relish  of  this  limited  ascendency. 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.   121 

Jepson  was  shaken  with  a  wild  fear  that  they  had  had 
later  news  from  the  Cove  than  he.  Then  he  remembered 
that  no  one  had  entered  or  left  the  room  since  his  return. 

"  Eli  Strobe  war  n't  dead  whenst  I  left  Brumsaidge,"  he 
replied  calmly. 

"  Thar,  now,  M'ria,  what  did  I  tell  ye  ?  "  expostulated 
Bowles. 

<k  Ye  tole  me,"  she  perversely  retorted,  "  ez  Teck  war  too 
sharp  an'  smart  ter  git  inter  enny  sech  trouble,  even  ef  he 
war  n't  none  too  good  fur  it." 

Jepson  recognized  the  facile  temporizing  of  Bowles  in. 
this,  and  he  noted  the  quick  flush  on  the  cheek  of  the  master 
of  the  house,  attesting  the  veracity  of  bis  wife's  speech. 

Jepson  did  not  resent  it,  for  he  had  a  certain  scornful 
indulgence  of  the  cowardly  amiability  of  his  half-brother, 
and  a  contemptuous  pity  for  the  hardship  of  his  position  in 
his  own  house.  He  quietly  hung  the  powder-horn  and  shot- 
pouch  upon  a  prong  of  the  deer  antlers  that  formed  the  rack 
for  his  gun.  Then  he  sat  down  before  the  fire,  his  eyes  on 
the  blaze,  his  legs  crossed,  bringing  one  of  his  heavy  boots 
so  near  Bob  that  the  fat  baby  could  not  refrain  from  lean 
ing  forward,  and  with  both  chubby  hands  making  the  rowel 
whirl.  His  teeth  shone,  his  eyes  gleamed,  he  chuckled  with 
glee,  till,  catching  Mrs.  Bowles's  gaze,  a  sudden  gravity 
settled  upon  his  open  mouth,  and  he  leaned  back  in  his  arm 
chair,  affecting  to  rub  his  eyes,  but  now  and  then  glancing 
furtively  at  her.  The  cat  came  and  purred  about  him,  and 
rubbed  against  his  dimpled  legs ;  then,  suddenly  bethinking 
herself,  stood  erect  on  her  hind  feet  and  put  her  forepaws  on 
his  knees  to  beg.  He  was  not  eating,  but  she  watched  for 
some  moments  with  stern  and  vigilant  eyes  every  movement 
of  his  chubby  hands,  that  they  should  not  undetected  convey 
some  unshared  delicacy  to  his  lips.  Finally  even  feline 
patience  was  exhausted,  and  with  an  inaudible  motion  of 
mewing  once  or  twice  she  sprang  into  the  child's  lap,  curled 
up,  and  composed  herself  to  slumber. 


122   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

Bowles  moved  uneasily  in  his  chair.  The  aggressive 
silence  weighed  hardly  less  heavily  upon  his  spirit  than  the 
more  active  expressions  of  antagonism  which  he  had  sought 
to  avert  or  annul.  Now  he  glanced  at  his  wife  with  an  ur 
gent  remonstrance  in  his  face,  of  which  he  was  unaware,  or 
he  would  have  suppressed  it  in  his  timorous  policy,  and  now 
at  Teck  Jepson  with  an  air  of  appeal. 

Presently,  in  desperation,  he  broke  the  pause  :  — 

"  War  ye  a-axin'  jes'  now,  Teck,  who  fetched  the  news 
hyar  ?  I  war  n't  pay  in'  much  'tention." 

Jepson  did  not  take  his  eyes  from  the  flames.  "  Naw,  I 
didn't  ax,"  he  said. 

Bowles  subsided  into  silence,  and  his  wife  turned  and  cast 
a  contemptuous  glance  upon  him,  which  he  comprehended 
as  a  rebuke  that  he  should  interfere. 

The  fire  burned  the  freer  and  the  clearer  for  the  draught 
from  the  open  door ;  the  circle  sat  well  back  from  the  hearth 
in  the  alternate  red  flare  and  white  fluctuations  ;  the  dark 
night  looked  in  through  the  black  aperture  of  window  and 
door  ;  the  awful  solitude  of  the  unpeopled  mountain  was 
close  without.  Sometimes  a  dallying  white  presence  was 
visible,  and  one  might  know  that  a  mist  was  skulking  close 
at  hand,  clearing  away  again  to  show  the  glimmer  of  a  lonely 
star  through  a  dark  pine  bough.  A  tree-toad  trilled  ;  the 
woods  sighed,  and  lapsed  again  to  soundless  solitude. 

Mrs.  Bowles,  too,  chafed  at  the  silence.  Once  or  twice 
she  visibly  restrained  herself.  Then  returning  to  her  first 
impulse,  she  observed,  "  Teck  don't  want  ter  know,  Ben. 
Them  ez  he  don't  like  he  jes'  won't  see  nor  hear,  an'  it  does 
him  mighty  nigh  ez  well  ez  ef  they  war  dead.  He  knows 
somehow  ez  't  war  Jake  Baintree  ez  hev  been  hyar  this 
evenin'  "  — 

Jepson  lifted  his  head.  "  Jake  Baintree  !  "  he  ejaculated, 
in  evident  surprise. 

Mrs.  Bowles  rejoiced  in  her  opportunity.  "  Yes,  sir,  't  war 
Jake  Baintree."  Her  dark  bead-like  eyes  flashed.  She 
smiled  flexibly  ;  her  white  teeth  glittered. 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.   123 

"What  call  hed  he  ter  kern  hyar?"  Jepson  demanded, 
puzzled. 

"  What  call  hed  n't  he  ?  "  Mrs.  Bowles  retorted.  "  He 
be  a  free  man  !  He  travels  the  mountings  whar  his  will 
leads  him,  —  same  ez  a  fox  or  a  deer.  He  be  ekal  ter  them 
dumb  sinners,  ennywise,  I  reckon,  though  he  ain't  'lowed 
ter  git  baptized." 

She  relapsed  into  silence,  with  an  obvious  satisfaction  to 
have  shot  this  arrow.  She  expected  him  to  inquire  further. 
But  he  only  rose,  looked  on  the  rude  shelf,  that  served  as 
mantel-piece,  for  his  pipe,  filled  it,  scooped  up  a  coal  from 
the  edge  of  the  fire,  and  smoked  thoughtfully,  with  no  show 
of  desire  to  hear  more  ;  and  this  stimulated  infinitely  Mrs. 
Bowles's  intention  to  continue  the  detail  of  the  visit.  She 
leaned  forward,  her  elbows  on  her  knees,  gazed  smilingly 
into  the  fire,  apparently  meditating  on  these  things,  and 
once  she  broke  out "'  Waal,  waal !  "  as  if  in  reminiscent 
wonder  and  interest. 

Her  husband,  always  alert  to  take  an  acceptable  part, 
looked  first  at  her,  with  her  patent  bid  to  be  interrogated, 
and  then  at  Jepson's  impassive  and  lofty  face,  with  its  proud 
indifference.  He  reflected  that  Jake  Baintree  was  in  one 
sense  his  half-brother's  enemy,  and  in  another  the  object  of 
his  persecution,  and  he  said  nothing. 

Mrs.  Bowles  flushed  with  a  dull  red  glow,  but  still  per 
sistently  smiled  and  gazed  into  the  fire  ;  then  shaking  her 
head  slowly  and  gently,  she  presently  broke  forth  again :  — 

"  Waal,  waal,  I  never  hearn  the  beat  o'  Jake's  talk  !  He 
'peared  plumb  rej'iced  over  the  happenings  in  the  Cove. 
An'  I  'lowed  ter  him  —  I  said,  '  I  '11  thanky  ter  remember 
it  be  my  cousin  —  yes,  sir,  own  blood  relation  —  ez  Teck, 
Jepson  hev  murdered,  so  don't  git  ter  glorifyin'  over  it 
hyar.'  An'  he  say,  '  I  can't  holp  it.  Mis'  Bowles.  I  'm 
sorry  fur  Eli  an'  his  darters,  but 't  ain't  mine  ter  question 
the  Lord's  devices,  nor  what  He  'lows  that  a  day  shell 
bring  forth.  The  Lord  suffered  it,'  he  says,  '  so  Eli  urns' 


124   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

submit,  an'  his  kinfolks  too.  But,'  he  says,  'the  Lord 
hain't  done  nuthin'  so  much  ter  my  taste  fur  the  las'  ten 
year  !  We-ims  '11  see  how  the  mate  o'  Daniel  will  look 
in  a  cage  hisself ,'  Jake  say  ;  '  no  other  lion  nor  other  wild 
cattle  thar,  but  he  kin  cavort  around  an'  rage  fur  twenty. 
We-uns  will  see  how  the  friend  o'  Moses,  the  Lawgiver, 
will  stand  agin  them  lawgivers  down  ter  the  criminal  court. 
We-uns  will  git  a  chance  ter  rest  our  ears  'bout  them  folks 
in  the  Bible  fur  one  while,  sure,  fur  the  livin'  will  gin  Teck 
all  he  kin  tend  ter,  'thout  studyin'  on  them  ez  be  dead  an' 
gone  so  long  they  oughter  be  furgot,  ef  they  ain't.'  An'  I 
ax  Jake,  I  jes'  riz  up  an'  axed  him,  ef  he  war  n't  'shamed 
ter  talk  that-a-way,  whenst  he  purtended  ter  hev  got  reli 
gion.  An'  he  'lowed  he  lied  got  through  with  wantin'  reli 
gion.  Whenst  the  pa'son  declared  he  would  n't  baptize 
him,  it  jes'  kern  on  him  like  a  flood  o'  light  ez  he  hed  ruther 
go  ter  hell  'n  ter  heaven  along  o'  sech  Christians  ez  pa'son 
an'  Teck.  An'  sence  that  minit  his  soul  lied  troubled  him 
no  mo'." 

Jepson  slowly  blew  the  smoke  from  between  his  lips  ;  the 
hand  that  held  the  corn-cob  pipe  did  not  tremble.  There 
was  no  suggestion  of  anger  in  his  dark  blue  eyes,  the  color 
of  the  iris  distinct  as  he  gazed  meditatively  into  the  fire. 
The  flicker  of  the  flames  fluctuated  upon  his  regular,  defi 
nite  features,  and  he  showed  no  consciousness  of  his  sur 
roundings  save  that  he  kept  his  former  attitude  rigidly,  in 
order  that  Bob,  leaning  forward  with  the  excited  eye  of 
achievement  and  the  quick  breath  of  effort,  might  triumph 
antly  accomplish  the  feat  of  unbuckling  and  taking  off  the 
large  spur.  The  child's  posture  incommoded  the  slumbers 
of  Aminty's  yellow  cat  that  lay  in  his  lap,  and  she  held  her 
green  eyes  half  open  that  she  might  guard  against  the  dan 
ger  of  being  too  much  compressed  as  he  bent  over.  More 
than  once  she  put  up  her  paw  against  the  breast  of  his 
nightgown,  with  an  admonitory  claw  extended ;  but  he  only 
peremptorily  caught  it  and  put  it  down,  and  went  on  with 
his  enterprise  as  before. 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       125 

Mrs.  Bowles  seemed  disposed  to  despair  and  desist,  as 
she  gazed  speculatively  at  the  impassive  Jepson.  Her  hus 
band  stirred  uneasily,  and  then  remarked  non-committally, 
'"  Some  say  Jake  Baintree  air  a  bad  aig." 

His  wife  did  not  often  condescend  to  a  dialogue  with  him 
alone.  But  this  was  the  only  prospect  of  covering  her  re 
treat  with  dignity,  as  she  relinquished  her  attack  on  Jepson. 
She  turned  her  face  with  a  commingling  animation  and 
benignity  toward  her  husband,  and  rejoined  in  a  tone  of  in 
terest,  "  Yes,  folks  say  so  ;  but  what  s'prised  me  war  the 
cur'ous  way  he  behaved  hyar  this  evem'n'.  I  wisht  ye  or 
Teck,  one,  hed  been  hyar,  jes'  ter  see  how  he  'peared.  He 
sot  thar  in  that  cheer,  —  't  war  gittin'  on  toward  dark,  — 
an'  his  face  war  sharp  an'  clear,  somehows,  an'  white,  an' 
his  hair  so  slick  an'  shinin',  an'  his  looks  so  keen,  like  he 
war  studyin'  'bout  a  heap  he  never  would  tell  in  this  woii'. 
An'  he  say,  '  I  ain't  got  no  mo'  use  fur  religion,  Mis'  Bowles. 

I  hev  got  no  use  fur  rivers,  'ceptin'  ter  go  swimmin'  in  'em.' 
An'  I  say,  '  Hev  ye  traded  off  yer  soul,  ez  ye  don't  'pear 
ter  'low  ye  hev  got  none  ter  save  ?  '     An'  he  say,  '  Ye  look 
out  fur  me  at  the  Jedgmint  Day.  Mis'  Bowles,   an*  ye '11 
Mow  I  stan'  toler'ble  high  amongst  the  n'angels.'     He  say, 

I 1  hev  got  suthin'  else  ter  look  arter  now.     Folks  in  the 
mountings    dunno    ez   much   ez    they   think  they   do,  Mis' 
Bowles.     I  fund  that  out  whilst  I  war  in  jail  in  Glaston  an' 
larnin'  so  much  o'  town  ways.'     An'   I  say,  '  It 's  good  ye 
air  pleased  with  yer  smartness,  Jake,  fur  ye  air  the  fust  one 
I  ever  hearn  accuse  ye  o'  sech.'     An'  I  jes'   uped  an'  set 
about  gittin'  supper,  an'  lef  him  thar  ter  brag  by  hisself. 
An'  whenst  I  looked  at  him,  arter  a  minit,  he  hed  tuk  a 
paper  out'n  his  pocket  an'  war  a-purtendin'  ter  read.     His 
eyes  war  jes'  set    sorter  cross-eyed   outer  it,   an'    his    lips 
a-movin'  like  he  war  a-talkin'  ter  hisself,  an'  he  looked  so 
plumb  foolish  ez  I  jes'  drapped  the  bowl  what  I  war  stirrin' 
batter  in,  an'  hollered  an'  laffed.     An'  he   say,  *  Ye  don't 
b'lieve  I  kin  read,  Mis'  Bowles;  jes'  listen,  an'  I  '11  read  ye 


126   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

'bout  a  man  what  got  tired  o'  livin'  in  the  world,  an'  got 
outer  a  raft  on  the  ruver.'  An'  sure  enough  Jake  did." 

Jepson  suddenly  lifted  his  head.  "  What  did  the  man 
do  ?  "  His  eyes  were  alert  with  the  interest  of  the  incom 
plete  suggestion,  the  promise  of  a  narrative  ;  he  held  his 
pipe  in  his  hand  ;  the  feeblest  tissue  of  smoke  stole  upward 
from  it.  He  had  forgotten  her  antagonism. 

She  broke  into  a  discordant  laugh.  "  Laws-a-massy,  ye 
reckon  I  kin  remember  all  that  thar  !  Naw,  sir.  I  did  n't 
mo'n  half  listen,  bein'  all  tuk  up  ter  see  Jake  readin'  like  a 
preacher  !  An'  Jake  say,  '  I  reckon  ye  won't  see  Teck  no 
mo',  Mis'  Bowles,  bein'  as  they  mus'  hev  'rested  him  by  this 
time.  Else  I  would  n't  hev  kem  inter  this  house,  it  bein' 
sorter  his'n,  ez  he  lives  hyar  an'  hev  put  his  stock  with 
yourn.  An'  1 11  say  ye  air  mighty  well  rid  o'  him,  in  my 
idee.'  Arter  that  he  went." 

She  had  unburdened  her  mind.  She  had  spent  her 
quiver,  —  not  a  barbed  shaft  remained.  She  was  glancing 
about  the  room,  meditating  upon  certain  arrangements  to  be 
providently  made  over  night  for  the  early  breakfast ;  now 
and  again  her  gaze  rested  on  Bob,  still  serenely  awake  in 
his  nightgown,  and  holding  up  before  eyes  that  squinted 
in  the  eager  intensity  of  their  interest  the  spur  which  he 
had  taken  from  the  boot. 

She  was  altogether  unprepared  for  aught  of  moment 
when  Jepson  said  slowly,  "  Ye  lied  better  lay  off  ter  milk 
the  cow-critters  sooner  'n  common,  ter-morrer,  M'ria,  kase  I 
be  goin'  ter  drive  my  stock  off  from  hyar  by  daylight.  I 
hev  hed  in  an'  about  enough  o'  this  place." 

Her  small  eyes  dilated  ;  she  changed  color ;  her  jaw 
dropped.  Her  lethargic  husband  was  suddenly  tense  and 
alert,  looking  at  Jepson  with  a  dismayed  deprecation,  aghast 
at  the  prospect  of  this  collapse  of  their  partnership.  Mild 
as  he  was  and  weak,  he  was  man  enough  in  this  emergency 
to  upbraid  his  wife. 

"  Thar  now,  M'ria !  "  he  said,  temperately,  however. 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       127 

It  was  the  first  rebuke  he  had  ever  given  her,  and  he 
quailed  as  the  words  passed  his  lips.  But  she  took  no  heed 
of  them  ;  her  sense  of  loss  was  so  poignant  as  to  dull  all 
resentment.  "  Why,  Teck  !  "  she  exclaimed,  her  voice 
cordial  with  persuasive  intonations,  "  ye  goin'  ter  leave  us 
—  jes'  kase  I  tole  ye  what  that  thar  black-hearted  Jake 
Baintree  say  'bout  our  bein'  well  rid  o'  ye  ?  I  did  n't  go 
ter  hurt  yer  feelin's.  Ye  ain't  goin'  ter  leave  us  fur  sech 
ez  that !  "  She  smiled  at  him,  her  eyes  and  her  teeth  glit 
tering  in  the  glow  of  the  fire. 

"  'T  ain't  fur  nuthin'  Jake  Baintree  say,"  he  disclaimed, 
still  placidly  gazing  at  the  blaze,  with  none  of  the  excite 
ment  and  instability  of  an  unconsidered  resolution  in  his 
face.  k*  I  jes'  be  a-goin'  fur  good."  He  seemed  un pliable 
enough  to  daunt  persuasion  or  appeal. 

"  Laws-a-massy,  Teck  I  "  Ben  Bowles  exclaimed,  lantern- 
jawed,  and  pallid,  and  disconsolate.  The  inflections  of  his 
voice  had  such  dreary  suggestions  that  Jepson  glanced  at 
him,  as  he  sat  pulling  at  his  hay-colored  beard,  the  deeply 
indented  grooves  and  wrinkles  in  his  face  growing  more 
definite  and  multiplying,  his  weak  blue  eyes  appealing  and 
forlorn.  He  might  have  seemed  in  terror  of  being  left 
at  the  mercy  of  his  wife,  who  sat  beside  him,  the  picture 
of  discomfiture,  and  swift  repentance,  and  anxious  forecast. 

The  survey  evidently  suggested  to  Jepson  some  modifi 
cation  of  his  plans. 

"  I  '11  leave  old  Spot  an'  her  calf,  bein'  ez  yer  cow  air 
dry,  so  ez  the  chill'n  kin  hev  buttermilk  an'  M'ria  kin 
churn ;  an',"  after  a  moment's  pause,  "  1  '11  leave  one  o'  my 
horses,  so  ye  kin  git  along  better  puttin'  in  craps  nex' 
spring.  Ye  kin  keep  'em  ez  long  ez  ye  '11  feed  'em." 

"  Why,  Teck !  "  cried  Mrs.  Bowles,  in  a  pained  yet  cor 
dially  insistent  tone  ;  she  forgot  what  she  was  about  to  say, 
for  there  surged  in  upon  her  the  recollection  of  his  "  stock," 
for  which  they  had  besought  him  to  abide  with  them,  and 
which  benefited  infinitely  the  housekeeping  and  the  farming 


128   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

in  a  thousand  ways.  He  possessed  only  a  few  head  of  the 
commonest  variety,  but  they  seemed  much  when  once  within 
her  grasp,  and  it  had  been  as  if  she  owned  them.  "  Why, 
Teck  !  "  she  exclaimed  once  again,  at  a  loss  how  to  con 
tinue. 

"  Ye  need  n't  say  nare  word,"  he  declared.  "  I  'in  goin' 
by  daybreak." 

He  knocked  the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe,  put  it  in  his  pocket, 
rose,  and  strode  out  on  the  porch.  He  had  not  contemplated 
one  of  his  long  mountain  jaunts,  —  only  a  turn  or  two  in 
the  solemn  stillness  of  the  night,  to  be  alone  with  his 
thoughts,  to  be  free  from  the  presence  of  his  fellows.  This 
was  contrary  to  his  usual  custom,  and  he  knew  that  she 
thought  him  far  away  when  he  saw  her  through  the  open 
door  rise  up  by  the  hearthstone,  and  heard  her  say  im 
pressively  to  the  forlorn,  stooping,  and  disquieted  Ben 
Bowles,  — 

"  Ye  mark  my  words,"  —  she  lifted  her  arm  and  shook 
her  fore-finger  at  him,  —  "  Eli  Strobe  ain't  dead  mebbe, 
but  he  will  be  soon,  an'  Teck  air  aimin'  aforehand  ter  git 
out'n  the  kentry  with  all  he  hev  got ;  he  '11  flee  the  State, 
an'  that  ter-moirer  mornin'." 

Bowles  listened  with  plaintive,  hopeless,  upturned  face. 
The  small  Bob  had  become  rigid  with  propriety  of  de 
meanor  the  instant  she  lifted  her  arm,  and  sat  with  his 
bright  hazel  eyes  fixed  expectantly  and  deprecatingly  upon 
her.  The  man  outside  in  the  darkness  watched  the  group 
for  a  moment,  and  then  turned  away  into  the  black  night. 


VIII. 

THE  events  of  the  day  were  peculiarly  edifying  to  Broom- 
sedge  Cove.  That  moralizing  tendency  rife  among  rural 
gossips  did  not  fail  to  utilize  so  promising  a  theme.  One 
might  have  culled  choice  apothegms  as  to  the  sterility  of 
ambition,  failing  oft  in  the  very  moment  of  seeming  frui 
tion,  suggested  by  the  fate  of  Kli  Strobe,  lying  at  the  point 
of  death  in  the  flush  of  success.  Others  evolved  reflections 
upon  the  overbearing  spirit  that  would  brook  not  even  the 
control  of  the  law,  and  certain  nice  points  of  ethics  arose 
as  to  how  far  a  man  is  warranted  in  holding  his  own  con 
science  as  monitor,  or  in  subjugating  his  prerogative  to 
judge  of  right  and  wrong. 

Kevins  still  lingered  amongst  the  group  about  the  door  of 
the  forge,  chewing  a  straw  the  while,  and  seeking  to  main 
tain  the  air  of  genial  acceptance  of  defeat,  and  a  certain 
indifference,  which  all  candidates,  who  have  come  to  grief, 
more  or  less  successfully  attempt  to  achieve.  His  face, 
however,  betokened  the  relaxation  of  suspense,  for  the  ner 
vous  strain  that  he  had  undergone  was  telling  upon  him  now. 
There  were  vague  blue  circles  and  a  flabby  fullness  under 
his  eyes,  which  looked  hot  and  were  restless,  but  they  held 
a  distinct  expression  of  resentment,  and  his  face  was  cov 
ertly  cynical,  albeit  his  replies  to  the  bluff  and  not  alto 
gether  good-natured  banter  were  couched  in  a  conciliatory 
and  still  politic  spirit. 

"  Plenty  o'  comp'ny,  Nevins,"  suggested  one.  '•  Candi 
dates  fur  jedge,  'torney-giiieral,  sher'ff,  an'  mo'  besides  mus' 
hev  got  the  go-by,  too,  this  day." 

For  to-day  was  held  the  general  midsummer  election  of 
civil  officers  throughout  the  judicial  circuit. 


130   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

Another  strolled  up,  and  observed,  "  Hain't  seen  ye, 
Nevins,  sence  the  woods  war  burnt." 

"  It  mus'  seem  powerful  hard,"  commented  a  Job's  com 
forter,  "  ez  ye  could  n't  hev  the  office,  sence  Eli  can't  hold 
it  now  he  hev  got  it." 

"  Leastwise,  Josh,"  said  another,  with  a  grin,  "  yer  hide 
be  whole  yit." 

"  Josh  would  n't  keer  how  his  hide  war  chipped  or  tore, 
ef  it  hed  a  constable  inside  o'  it,"  chimed  in  an  adverse 
elector. 

The  defeated  candidate,  thus  rallied,  made  shift  to  smile, 
although  somewhat  grimly.  He  was  evidently  bent  on 
keeping  up  his  reputation  for  pluck,  but  he  might  have 
found  it  far  more  difficult  if  Eli  Strobe,  robust,  and  florid, 
and  hilarious,  had  been  lingering  too  at  the  voting-place, 
shaking  hands  with  his  supporters,  receiving  the  congratu 
lations  of  his  friends,  and  crowing  over  his  enemies.  The 
aspects  of  defeat  were  sufficiently  abashing  and  depressing, 
and  he  knew  that  much  was  spared  him  in  that  the  Gorgon 
face  of  his  competitor's  success  was  withheld.  Although 
the  physician,  who  resided  some  fourteen  miles  distant,  had 
not  yet  arrived,  and  no  professional  opinion  had  been  pro 
nounced,  there  was  no  doubt  expressed  that  Eli  Strobe 
would  not  live  to  enjoy  the  honors  and  discharge  the  duties 
of  the  office  he  had  so  hardly  won,  for  by  reason  of  the 
rigors  of  his  previous  incumbency  the  race  had  been  ex 
tremely  close.  More  than  one  of  the  gossips,  full  of  gloomy 
forebodings,  animadverted  upon  the  lack  of  "  spunk  "  in 
the  Settlement  that  it  had  permitted  Teck  Jepson  to  ride  by 
unmolested,  and  take  his  way  up  to  the  impenetrable  fast 
nesses  of  the  mountain,  to  issue  thence  when  it  should  suit 
his  pleasure. 

"  He  onghter  hev  been  arrested,  —  yes,  sir !  "  said  Jethro 
Peake,  who,  having  concluded  his  duties  as  judge  of  the 
election,  now  entered  upon  the  larger  field  of  censor  of  the 
community  in  general.  His  round  face  was  red  with  the 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       131 

influence  of  a  certain  beverage  innocently  believed  to  be 
neither  sold  nor  given  away  on  election  day  ;  his  fat  cheeks 
shook  with  the  energy  of  his  discourse.  "  An'  ef  I  lied  n't 
hev  been  inside  the  forge  I  'd  hev  done  it  ez  he  rid  by  ! 
Laws-a-massy  !  ter  ride  by  a  blacksmith  shop,  whar  the 
three  jedges  appinted  by  the  county  court  air  jes'  finished 
a-countin'  out  the  ballots  'cordin'  ter  law,  —  ride  by  in  the 
open  light  o'  day,  an'  nobody  arrest  him !  Ef  I  hed  been 
hyar !  "  He  shook  his  head  threateningly,  thrust  his  hands 
into  his  pockets,  and  walked  a  few  short  steps  hither  and 
thither ;  manifesting  now  a  prideful  elation  in  his  authority 
that  had  not  been  apparent  throughout  the  day,  and  was 
probably  "  set  free,"  chemically  speaking,  by  the  action  of 
the  whiskey. 

"  Then  we  'd  hev  lied  another  cracked  head  'round  hyar/' 
observed  Bassett,  "  'T  war  tryin'  ter  arrest  Teck  fur  racin* 
ez  got  Eli  hurt.  I  don't  reckon  nobody  air  goin'  ter  meddle 
with  Teck  ez  ain't  'bleeged  ter." 

ki  I  reckon  Marcelly  would  hev  liked  ter  hev  hed  Teck 
arrested,"  said  Dake.  "  Teck  'peared  skeered  ter  go  inside 
o'  the  cabin  'count  o'  Marcelly.  Laws-a-massy !  that  gal 
looked  like  she  hed  two  live  coals  fur  eyes,  whenst  some 
body  spoke  up  his  name,  tellin'  Eli's  mother  how  it  hap 
pened.  Marcelly  looked  plumb  like  a  painter  I  seen  up 
ter  the  mounting  wunst.  I  hed  got  the  critter's  kittens 
out'n  a  hollow  tree,  an'  'lowed  I  'd  take  'em  home  an'  see 
ef  they  'd  tame  an'  pet.  An'  I  looked  round  whilst  kemin' 
down  the  mounting,  an'  thar  war  that  painter  crouchin'  on 
a  high  rock  over  my  head,  sleek,  an'  strong,  an'  light,  an' 
supple,  sir,  ready  ter  spring.  I  hed  no  gun,  an'  I  jes'  tuk 
one  look  at  her  eyes,  an'  I  knowed  that  thar  beastis  hed 
grit  enough  ter  f oiler  me  ter  hell.  I  jes'  sot  them  two  leetle 
painters  on  a  flat  rock,  an'  I  fund  out  what  the  Lord  gin 
me  feet  fur.  I  put  'em  ter  right  smart  use  fur  'bout  a  mile." 
He  paused  for  a  moment,  in  silent  reminiscence  of  this 
speedy  descent  from  the  great  steeps  above.  Then  he  re- 


132        THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOM  SEDGE   COVE. 

sumed,  "  I  ain't  thunk  'bout  that  thar  painter  in  I  dunno 
when,  till  Marcelly's  eyes  reminded  me  o'  hern." 

"  Waal,  now,  I  reckon  that  11  put  an  e-end  ter  Teck  Jep- 
son  a-settin'  up  ter  Marcelly,"  said  Clem  Sanders,  hopefully. 
He  was  within  the  forge,  leaning  against  the  elevated  hearth, 
feeling  a  certain  inhospitable  relief  that  the  shop  had  been 
restored  to  its  normal  uses,  and  the  judges  and  the  ballot- 
box,  the  clerk  and  the  table,  and  all  the  paraphernalia  of 
suffrage,  animate  and  inanimate,  had  been  removed.  He 
was  not  ill-natured  nor  malicious,  but  the  disaster  augured 
demolition  of  his  rival's  hopes,  and  his  own  sprang  up  re 
vivified  by  the  prospect.  His  heart  had  not  been  so  light 
for  many  a  day,  —  not  since  he  had  played  cards  gayly  and 
victoriously  with  Mose  Hull,  all  unconscious  that  Satan 
perched  on  the  anvil  behind  him  to  overlook  his  hand,  while 
the  window-shutter  was  drawn  ajar,  and  an  uncomprehended 
entity  looked  in,  solemn,  dismayed,  aghast.  Since  then  the 
forge  had  been  deserted  after  nightfall.  No  longer  the 
mountain  youth  congregated  here.  No  longer  the  cliffs 
echoed  the  hilarious  songs  and  outbursts  of  rotund  and  rol 
licking  laughter.  No  longer  athwart  the  solemn  obscurity 
of  the  brooding  night  were  flung  fluctuating  shafts  of  red 
and  yellow  light,  summoning  out  a  trembling  glimpse  of  the 
gigantic  trees,  or  broad,  lucent  stretches  of  the  river,  and 
making  the  grim,  immovable  old  crags  seem  to  advance  and 
retreat  at  the  whimseys  of  the  breathing  bellows.  Parson 
Donnard  himself  could  not  have  desired  the  shop  to  be  more 
solitary  and  silent  than  it  was  now  since  its  admonished  fre 
quenters  were  fain  to  be  dull  and  quiet  about  the  domestic 
hearth. 

"  From  all  I  hev  hearn,  she  war  jes'  a-foolin'  Jepson,  ter 
git  him  ter  work  fur  her  dad  in  the  'lection,"  Nevins  ob 
served  ;  he  cast  the  merest  suggestion  of  a  glance  at  Clem 
Sanders  as  he  lifted  his  eyes,  adding,  "  I  reckon  thar  war 
a  good  many  in  the  same  boat  with  Teck,  too.  I  never 
hearn  afore  of  a  gal  takin'  the  'lection  ter  heart  same  ez 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOVSEDGE   COVE.       133 

men  folks.  Ginerally  gals  dtmno  what  thar  kinfolks  air 
runnin'  fur,  an'  pays  mo'  'tention  ef  the  hen-house  war 
Mowed  over  in  a  high  wind,  or  a  mink  hed  throttled  the 
fow-els,  'n  ef  thar  dad  air  'lected  or  beat.  Wimmen  gin- 
erally  dunno  ef  jedge  air  higher  'n  sher'ff,  or  sher'ff  'n  con 
stable.  I  never  hearn  tell  o'  sech  a  gal  ez  this  hyar  Mar- 
celly  Strobe." 

He  spoke  with  acerbity,  recognizing  her  as  a  potent  and 
perhaps  decisive  adverse  influence,  the  majority  being  so 
small. 

"  Marcelly  dunno  nuthin',"  Clem  Sanders  remarked  loy 
ally,  defending  her  against  the  imputation  of  a  knowledge 
of  politics.  "  She  jes'  'lows  ez  her  dad  air  the  biggest  man 
in  the  Newnited  States.  Laws-a-massy,  I  don't  wonder 
Teck  Jepson  war  afeard  o'  her."  He  strove  to  adjust  his 
countenance  to  a  proper  sense  of  calamity,  but  he  was  a 
simple  fellow,  and  frank  with  himself,  and  albeit  he  deplored 
the  misfortunes  and  distresses  of  his  friends,  he  saw  his  own 
gain,  and  its  prospect  of  cheer  was  in  his  square  face  and 
his  bright  and  narrow  eyes.  "  I  hed  no  sheer  in  it,"  he 
observed  half  aloud,  recognizing  his  own  state  of  mind,  "  an' 
I  know  I  hope  an'  pray  to  God  ez  Eli  won't  die." 

No  ;  matters  should  remain  as  they  were  now,  —  adapted 
to  the  best  interests  of  those  most  worthily  concerned.  Eli 
Strobe  should  recover,  but  with  this  breach  between  the 
handsome  Jepson  and  Marcella,  Clem  Sanders  felt  that  no 
grass  should  grow  beneath  his  feet  while  he  put  his  fate  to 
the  test. 

"  I  useter  be  sorter  'feard  o'  Marcelly,  but  ef  I  war  gin 
jes'  one  mo'  chance  I  'd  do  some  sech  all-fired  quick  courtin* 
't  would  'stonish  the  kentry." 

It  was  not  often  that  Parson  Donnard  figured  as  an  apolo 
gist.  But  in  common  with  all  the  country-side,  as  well  as 
Teck  Jepson  himself,  he  had  mistaken  the  Biblical  enthu 
siasm  of  the  young  man  for  religion,  and  had  often  felt 
moved  to  publicly  rejoice  in  the  gracious  outpourings  of  the 


134   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

spirit  so  strikingly  manifested  here.  As  he  and  his  son 
stood  amongst  the  group,  he  was  accosted  by  Nevins,  whose 
uncharacteristic  causticity  was  sharpening  with  his  sense  of 
loss ;  for  the  shock  of  the  first  realization  of  the  result  had 
resolved  itself  into  a  continuous  ache,  that  would  always 
stir  and  thrill  again  so  long  as  his  memory  might  rouse  his 
pride. 

"  This  hev  been  a  toler'ble  hard  day  fur  the  saints,  pa'- 
son,"  he  ventured.  His  once  pleasant  smile  was  a  politi 
cian's  sneer,  that  did  not  match  the  obvious  meaning  of  the 
words  he  spoke.  "  Seems  sorter  'stonishin'  fur  one  o'  the 
Lord's  elect  ter  git  ter  bettin',  an'  horse-racin',  an'  resistin' 
arrest,  an'  run  down  an'  crack  the  skull  o'  the  off'cer  o'  the 
law,  ez  kem  a-bulgin'  an'  a-runnin'  out  in  the  road  afore 
the  horses'  huffs,  mad  ez  a  bull  o'  Bashan,  though  he  war  a 
shinin'  light  hisself." 

The  thin  ascetic  face  flushed  slightly,  thus  attesting  that 
the  parson's  blood  was  red  and  warm.  But  he  proved 
equal  to  the  emergency. 

"  Thar  's  a  lesson  in  it,  brother,"  he  returned  fervently. 
"The  best  'mongst  us  kin  only  lean  on  the  Strong  Arm. 
An'  when  we  lose  our  hold,  brother,  ef  it 's  only  fur  a 
minit,  ah  !  then,  brother,  we  fall,  —  saint  or  sinner,  brother, 
we  fall !  Lean  on  the  Strong  Arm,  brother,  an'  be  up 
held  !  " 

There  was  a  reverential  attention  accorded  him  while  he 
spoke,  his  rotund  voice  rising  into  the  elocutionary  effects 
of  rural  exhortation,  and  ringing  out  into  the  quiet  evening 
air.  Silence  succeeded  in  the  group,  and  when  presently 
one  of  the  men  coughed  and  cleared  his  throat,  and  a  slight 
motion  made  itself  apparent  amongst  them,  it  was  like  that 
gradual  recall  to  mundane  sentiments  and  stir  which  follows 
with  a  jarring  impression  after  praise  or  united  prayer. 

Parson  Donnard,  not  unmindful  of  effect,  was  not  slow 
to  take  advantage  of  this  opportunity  of  leaving  the  field 
with  all  his  colors  flying.  And  indeed  there  were  evi- 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.   135 

dences  of  disintegration  in  the  crowd  momentarily  becom 
ing  more  marked.  Gaps  in  the  row  of  horses  intimated 
how  many  had  already  gone  ;  continually  the  tramp  of  fresh 
departures  rose  on  the  air,  and  the  hoof-beats  sounded  hol 
low  and  with  cavernous  echoes  from  the  little  bridge  beyond 
the  forge.  Here  and  there  in  the  valley,  or  where  the 
winding  road  up  the  mountain-side  became  visible  amongst 
the  dense  leafage,  a  great  canvas-covered  wagon  lumbered 
along,  catching  the  roseate  glow  of  the  sunset.  Certain 
lively  youths,  not  to  be  subdued  by  any  contemplation  of 
tragedy,  spiritual,  political,  or  material,  could  be  heard  a 
long  way,  although  out  of  sight,  whooping  and  hilariously 
shouting  to  one  another,  while  all  the  solemn  gray  crags 
assumed  a  spurious  note  of  jocose  and  boisterous  flippancy, 
and  called  back  and  forth  across  the  valley  with  a  weird 
mockery.  Jube,  the  parson's  son,  shambling  home  a  half 
hour  later,  perhaps,  than  his  father,  his  hands  in  his  pock 
ets,  his  hat  askew,  paused  ever  and  anon  to  listen  to  this 
mingled  fantastic  outcry  ;  discerning  familiar  tones  some 
times  in  the  voices  of  his  friends  themselves,  sometimes 
in  the  frenzied  mimicry  of  the  crags.  He  would  stand  mo 
tionless  till  the  sound  died  away  for  the  nonce,  judging  from 
its  bizarre  fluctuations  how  far  the  process  of  inebriation 
had  gone  ;  then  shake  his  head  reprehensively,  —  for  Jube 
was  a  man  of  sober  theory,  —  and  pursue  his  way,  brought 
to  a  halt  again  only  when  all  the  peaceful  valley  and  all 
the  staid  and  rigid  rocks  were  again  declaiming  in  drunken 
mirth. 

This  dual  possibility  of  standpoint  enabled  Jube  to  dwell 
in  great  amity  and  unity  of  spirit  with  his  solemn  and  as 
cetic  parents,  and  yet  continue  the  cherished  soul  of  mirth 
amongst  the  wild  young  mountaineers  whose  society  was  so 
dear  to  him.  In  one  sense  he  devoutly  believed  and  had 
formally  accepted  all  those  wise  saws  condemnatory  of  lev 
ity  and  threatening  retribution.  He  could  listen  with  an 
impersonal  conviction  to  prophecies  of  impending  wrath  for 


136   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

those  who  were  merry  without  cause  now,  and  who  should 
presently  gnash  their  teeth  with  ample  cause. 

"  Yes,  sir !  "  he  would  often  cry  out  with  animated  con 
firmation,  and  in  a  voice  rendered  even  more  emphatic  by 
a  sort  of  chronic  hoarse  wheeze,  when  his  father  sat  by  the 
fire,  and  shook  his  head,  and  foretold  vengeance  already 
poised  to  alight  on  those  who  cared  not  to  hear,  and  who 
would  not  repent  while  yet  there  was  time. 

"  Dander  on,  sing  sir,  do  they,  play  kyerds,  an'  da-ance ! 
An'  Satan  have  gyirded  him  up,  an'  air  kemin'  up  the  val 
ley,  sir,  —  kemin'  up  the  valley  like  a  black  cloud  in  which 
thar  be  no  promise  o'  peace ;  like  a  whurlwind  ez  holds  no 
pity ;  like  the  yearthquake,  when  men  may  turn  this-a-way 
an'  that-a-way,  an'  find  no  escape !  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  Jube  would  filially  echo,  his  eyes  distended 
with  some  mental  vision  of  Satan  expressed  in  these  natural 
terrors. 

The  trouble  with  Jube  was  a  singular  lack  of  pliability 
in  application.  It  never  occurred  to  him  to  look  upon  him 
self  as  one  of  the  hopeless  and  the  possibly  damned.  On 
the  contrary,  there  are  few  people  in  this  world  who  take 
so  much  pleasure  in  it  as  did  Jube  Donnard,  despite  all  the 
restrictions  of  his  narrow  circumstances.  Few  people  can 
walk  on  their  heads  and  hands  with  such  joy  in  sheer  in 
version.  Few  people  can  sing  so  hilariously  false,  old  songs, 
so  oft  sung,  antedating,  perhaps,  Broomsedge  Cove  itself, 
and  still  find  them  fresh  and  full  of  delight.  Few  people 
can  lose  their  little  all  at  play  with  such  cheerful  equanim 
ity.  "  I  never  see  sech  a  comical  run  o'  kyerds,  noways," 
he  would  console  himself,  with  a  laugh  at  some  ludicrous 
sequences.  Few  people  can  on  occasion  drink  so  deeply, 
and  yet  be  consciously  so  little  drunk. 

v  If  the  parson  suspected  his  son's  occupations  and  amuse 
ments  to  be  vain  and  frivolous,  and  unbeseeming  mortality 
endowed  with  that  large  contract  of  preparing  for  immor 
tality,  and,  with  a  desire  to  induce  him  to  look  upon  him- 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOVSEDGE   COVE.       137 

self  as  among  those  spiritually  threatened,  spoke  with  a 
secret  admonitory  intent,  his  finesse  was  poorly  rewarded 
by  the  adaptable  Jube,  who  would  straightway  respond  with 
plastic,  earnest  sincerity,  "  Yes,  sir  !  Yes,  sir  !  " 

In  one  sense  they  were  a  family  set  apart.  For  Mrs. 
Donnard,  too,  unconsciously  held  herself  in  some  sort  as 
one  exempt.  She  had  come  to  consider  religion  only  as  it 
affected  the  congregation.  The  promises  of  the  Bible  were 
for  those  members  who  heeded  the  parson's  righteous  words. 
Its  threats  and  monitions  were  for  those  who  yielded  him 
not  the  due  meed  of  reverence,  spiritual  and  secular. 
Somehow,  the  unpropitious  aspects  of  religion  were  predom 
inant  in  Mrs.  Donnard's  contemplation  of  the  congregation. 
Like  the  wives  of  many  preachers  of  larger  pastorates  and 
ampler  opportunities,  she  thought  the  flock  got  more  out  of 
the  parson  in  many  ways  than  they  paid  for.  The  battle 
of  life  represented  for  her  the  congregation  on  one  side 
and  the  parson  on  the  other,  and  she  proved  a  stanch  parti 
san,  a  host  in  herself.  "  They  say  so,"  she  would  some 
times  observe  sarcastically,  when  he  would  detail  an  im 
provement  in  morals  or  manners  resolved  upon  amongst 
them,  or  some  great  awakening  within  his  bailiwick.  "  Now 
let 's  see  the  doin'  of  it." 

The  parson  was  far  more  enthusiastic,  eloquent,  and  able 
than  his  helpmeet,  but  it  may  be  doubted  if  he  were  en 
dowed  with  so  accurate  a  gauge  of  the  efficacy  of  the  good 
intentions  of  poor  human  nature. 

Sometimes  she  would  merely  remark,  "  I  hev  been  hearin' 
sech  ez  that  thar  from  old  Squair  Bynum  fur  fifty  year. 
Mebbe  ef  the  Lord  grants  him  Methus'lah's  age  he  may 
make  out  ter  mend  his  ways,  —  leastwise  some  few  o'  'em." 
Then  she  would  burst  out  singing  as  she  went  about  her 
household  avocations,  u  The  day  o'  jedgmint  's  on  the  way  ! " 
In  this  acrimony  between  herself  and  her  husband's 
charge,  she  must  have  experienced  a  great  satisfaction  to 
be  so  sure  that  all  their  misdeeds  and  shortcomings  would 


138   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

be  so  severely  visited  upon  them,  and  so  actively  rued  in 
fire  and  brimstone,  —  for  Mrs.  Donnard's  faith  was  very 
complete.  Somehow  it  had  strangely  discharged  itself  of 
personality.  She  thought  no  more  of  her  own  soul  than  if 
she  had  none  to  be  saved.  Salvation  was  not  on  her  lips. 
Religion  was  an  engine  chiefly  valuable  in  keeping  the  con 
gregation  strung  up  to  properly  perform  its  dutie.'j  toward 
the  parson.  Arid  yet  her  eye  was  single  to  what  she  con 
ceived  to  be  her  duty.  She  zealously  devoted  herself  to 
his  interests,  merging  her  identity  in  his  ;  resenting  his 
griefs,  rejoicing  in  his  pleasures,  and  entertaining  his  views. 
Jube  was  the  only  surviving  child  of  a  goodly  number,  and 
the  unanimity  of  opinion  which  subsisted  between  the  old 
couple  suffered  no  lapse  in  their  mutual  persuasion  of  his 
perfection.  The  capacity  for  believing  what  one  desires  to 
believe  is  in  itself  a  source  of  perennial  pleasure,  and  the 
two  took  unimpeached  joy  and  comfort  in  their  colt,  who 
nimbly  demonstrated  his  capacity  to  pace  despite  the  sober 
trot  of  his  parents,  who  had  never  given  themselves  over  to 
any  such  erratic  gait. 

As  Jube  came  up  the  path  to  the  log  cabin  they  were  sit 
ting  together  on  the  porch,  and  welcomed  him  with  sparse 
words,  indeed,  but  with  a  solemn  pleasure  in  him  which 
their  eyes  betokened. 

"  Enny  mo'  news  from  the  Settlemint,  Jubal  ?  "  asked 
his  mother.  They  lived  a  considerable  distance  higher  on 
the  mountain,  and  a  bulging  slope  hid  from  them  the  little 
hamlet.  So  Mrs.  Donnard  felt  at  times  afar  off,  and  ex 
hibited  that  avidity  for  the  news  of  the  day  natural  to  a 
woman  in  the  country,  oppressed  by  the  sense  that,  without 
extreme  vigilance,  she  is  in  a  position  to  be  debarred  a  choice 
bit  of  gossip  some  day. 

Jube  had  that  reluctance  to  detail  often  manifested  by  the 
favored  mortal  who  has  been  »'  to  town,"  what  he  has  heard 
having  ceased  to  be  a  novelty.  To  be  sure,  Mrs.  Donnard 
might  seem  to  have  been  feasted  with  news  to-day,  and  Jube 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       139 

had  naught  to  add  .to  the  narrative  of  the  proceedings 
already  given  by  his  father ;  but  she  took  a  long  time  to 
fairly  assure  herself  of  this,  and  the  revived  reference  to 
the  subject  impaired  the  parson's  cheerfulness. 

''I  hev  labored  an'  I  hev  labored  in  this  field,"  he  re 
marked,  ki  an'  it  'pears  ter  do  no  good." 

He  had  both  his  knotted  hands  clasped  on  his  stick,  and 
rested  his  long  chin  on  them. 

"  A  set  o'  hard-hearted,  stiff-necked  half-livers !  "  said  the 
parson's  wife  uncompromisingly. 

"  Fightin'  an'  quar'lin'  whar  thar  ought  ter  be  peace,  — 
peace  in  the  fold." 

"  Ginerally  less  peace  in  the  fold  'n  enny whar  else,"  af 
firmed  his  helpmeet. 

"  Eli  Strobe,  —  an  old-time  member  an'  a  settled  married 
man." 

u  Wife  been  dead  ten  year  or  more,"  said  Mrs.  Donnard, 
domestically  accurate. 

"An'  Teck  Jepson,  what  actially  'peared  ter  be  gifted 
with  visions  !  Kin  tell  'bout  folks  in  the  Bible  till  ye  kin 
mos'  see  'em  a-walkin'  out  afore  ye." 

"•  But  Teck  Jepson  hev  a  prideful  walk  hisself,  —  'pears 
ter  know  all  the  folks  air  a-starin'  at  him,  'specially  wim- 
min.  I  dunno  ez  I  b'lieve  in  the  savin'  grace  o'  enny  men 
folks  ez  sets  up  ter  be  better  lookin'  n'  the  angel  Gabriel,  ef 
the  truth  war  knowed,"  objected  the  discerning  Mrs.  Don 
nard. 

"  Teck  Jepson  gone  an'  c'mitted  murder,  —  laws-a-massy  ! 
I  jes'  feel  how  the  members  o'  the  church  in  Piomingo  Cove 
ez  be  always  a-laffin'  an'  gibin'  at  we-uns,  will  crack  thai- 
heels  tergether  an'  shout  whenst  they  hear  'bout'n  it." 

"  That  thar  smooth-faced,  fat,  jokified  Brother  'Zekiel 
Johns  always  tuk  every  chance  ter  gin  a  dab  at  the  '  Brum- 
saidge  brethren,'  ez  he  say  it."  Mrs.  Donnard  drawled  her 
mimicry  in  good  clerical  fashion. 

Even  the  placid  Jube  was  touched  by  this  prophecy  of  the 


140       THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE. 

rejoicing  of  the  opposite  religious  faction.  He  shifted  his 
position  as  he  sat  on  the  step,  and  frowned  in  perplexed 
discomfiture,  looking  even  more  like  his  father  with  these 
solemn  corrugations.  It  seemed  to  him  at  the  moment 
worth  while  saving  one's  soul  to  spite  the  folks  in  Pio- 
mingo  Cove. 

"  I  'd  hev  'lowed,"  he  observed,  "  ez  arter  Satan  hisself 
kem  hyar  an'  sot  hisself  up  thar  in  public  in  the  forge,  squat- 
tin'  on  the  anvil,  ez  them  fellers,  Eli  Strobe  an'  Teck  Jep- 
son,  mought  hev  knowed  ez  bad  luck  would  hev  got  inter 
thar  fightin'.  Eli  jes'  a-boundin'  out  in  the  road  under  the 
mare's  huffs,  an'  Teck  ridin'  the  off'cer  o'  the  law  down  !  — 
they  knowed  the  devil  hev  been  viewed  in  Brumsaidge 
wunst,  ennyways,  ef  they  did  n't  know  'bout  his  workin's 
sence." 

The  old  man  lifted  his  chin  from  the  hands  clasped  upon 
his  stick.  The  nostrils  of  his  long,  thin,  bony  nose  dilated 
like  those  of  a  frightened  horse ;  his  eyes  widened  and 
brightened,  showing  a  lighter  tint  than  their  usual  gray. 

u  What  workin's,  son  ?  "  he  demanded. 

Jube  looked  at  him  in  the  closing  dusk,  and  mysteriously 
shook  his  head. 

Mrs.  Donnard  had  not  observed  the  allusion  nor  the 
look. 

"  Racin'  an'  bettin'  air  sinful,"  she  declared,  "  an'  that 
thar  tearin'-down,  good-lookin'  Teck  Jepson  hev  got  mighty 
little  religion  ef  he  don't  know  it." 

The  old  man  had  a  sudden  monition  of  the  discipline 
seemly  in  his  own  family.  "  War  n't  ye  one  o'  them  a-racin'. 
son  ?  "  he  asked,  although  he  had  had  the  evidence  of  his 
own  eyes  to  the  fact.  There  was  a  momentary  pause. 

"Jes'  sorter  runnin'  the  horse-critter  along  the  road," 
said  the  parson's  son,  as  if  defining  a  material  difference. 

The  old  man  in  a  manner  accepted  the  distinction. 

"  Waal,  sonny,  ye  mus'  n't  do  sech.  'T  ain't  right,  an' 
it  air  agin  the  law." 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.   141 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  the  dutiful  Jube. 

"  Though  ye  would  n't  hev  run  nobody  down,"  said  the 
mother. 

''  Naw  'm."     Jube  found  it  very  easy  to  coincide. 

Mrs.  Donnard.  convinced  that  there  was  no  more  news 
from  the  Settlement  to  be  gleaned,  rose  presently,  and  went 
in-doors  to  "  dish  up  "  supper.  The  two  men,  left  alone 
upon  the  porch,  grew  more  confidential. 

"Jube,"  said  the  parson  eagerly,  lowering  his  voice, 
"  what  d'  ye  mean  'bout  the  devil's  workin's  in  Brumsaidge 
sence  ?  " 

Jube  looked,  cogitating  and  silent,  down  the  slope,  where 
the  great  dark  trees  rose,  dense,  and  heavy,  and  glooming. 
The  sky  was  far  lighter  than  the  earth,  and  here  only  was 
color  distinguishable,  —  the  pallid  blue  tint  that  barely  per 
mitted  to  be  seen  the  fluctuating  glitter  of  a  timorous  star. 
Above  Chilhowee,  far  away,  the  sickle  of  the  moon  was 
reaping  the  shadowy  mists, 'gray  and  crimson,  touched  with 
an  afterglow  of  the  sun  ;  a  vague  swath  of  light  was  left 
behind  her  keen  and  glistening  blade.  The  voice  of  a  night- 
hawk  sounded  raucous  and  sudden,  and  once  more  the 
heavy  silence  brooded. 

"  Waal,  dad,  I  dunno  ef  I  hev  enny  call  ter  say  nuthin' 
'bout  it ;  I  promised  I  would  n't  tell." 

"  Laws-a-massy,  Jube,  who  tole  ye  ?"  demanded  the  par 
son,  agitated. 

Jube  stirred  uneasily.  His  unlucky  allusion  to  the  mat 
ter  had  escaped  him  unwittingly.  He  was  beginning  to 
understand  that  he  should  be  urged  to  explain,  and  his  tact 
and  invention  were  .  deplorably  inadequate  to  the  emer 
gency. 

"  I  promised  Clem  Sanders  I  would  n't  tell,"  he  said 
desperately. 

"  Waal,  Jubal,  I  '11  gin  ye  ter  onderstand  ez  this  ain't  no 
matter  fur  ye  an'  Clem  Sanders  ter  keep  ter  yerse'fs,"  said 
the  old  man  severely.  "  I  war  gin  ter  view  the  Enemy  in 


142   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

that  thar  forge,  an'  ef  ennythin'  hev  kem  o'  secli  I  hev  got 
the  right  ter  know  it." 

This  logic  freed  Jube's  conscience,  and  absolved  him,  as 
it  were,  from  his  broken  promise. 

"  He  hev  been  thar  agin  !  " 

The  stick  fell  from  Parson  Donnard's  grasp,  and  rolled 
noisily  along  the  puncheon  floor. 

"  Who  ?  "  he  gasped,  with  trembling  lips  and  starting 
eyes,  expectant  of  the  answer  that  came  suppressed  — 

"  Satan  !  " 

Parson  Donnard  sat  as  one  petrified. 

"  He  kem  thar,"  said  Jube,  with  lowered  voice  and  many 
furtive  glances  toward  those  glooming  woods,  "  one  night 
whenst  Clem  did  n't  know  nuthin'  'bout'n  it,  bein'  at  home 
an'  asleep  ;  but  Dake,  he  see  the  forge  alight  an'  hearn  the 
hammers  a-strikin',  an'  he  'lowed  't  war  Clem.  He  tole  Clem 
arterward,  an'  it  like  ter  skeered  Clem  ter  death,  kase  he 
'lowed  mebbe  't  war  that  thar  dead  Clem  Sanders,  —  what 
ye  seen  lookin'  through  the  winder  at  him  whenst  he  played 
kyerds,  —  a-hammerin',  with  the  devil  a-strikin'  fur  him  !  " 

"  My  stars !  "  exclaimed  the  trembling  parson. 

"  Yes,  sir !  "  said  Jube,  flattered  by  the  extreme  interest 
with  which  his  narative  was  received,  its  intensity  being 
altogether  unexpected.  "  Yes,  sir,  Clem  'lowed  ez  't  war 
Satan  ez  mus'  do  the  strikin',  an'  not  the  smith  work ;  kase 
Clem  'lows  ez  sech  takes  a  heap  o'  'speriunce,  an'  dealin' 
in  metals  air  a  mighty  partic'lar  business,  an'  Satan  air  a 
heap  too  smart  ez  ter  'low  he  kin  do  reg'lar  smith  work 
'thout  he  hed  a  power  o'  teachin'.  Strikin'  air  all  Satan 
would  be  ekal  ter  round  a  forge,  Clem  say.  Waal,  sir,  two 
or  three  nights  arterward  Clem  hears  suthin',  an'  looks  out'n 
the  roof-room  winder  ;  an'  thar  he  see  the  forge  lit  up  an' 
hearn  the  hand-hammer  an'  the  sledge,  clink-clank,  clink- 
clank,  jes'  ez  nat'ral !  Clem  'lowed  it  made  him  feel  power 
ful  bad  ter  hev  his  harnt  a-walkin'  'bout  his  own  forge  'fore 
he  air  dead  ;  he  tuk  it  fur  a  sign,  an'  it  went  so  ter  his 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       143 

heart  ez  he  got  off'n  his  feed  fur  a  few  days.     But  that 
night,  ez  he  got  closer  an'  closer  ter  the  forge  "  — 

"  Did  —  did  Clem  go  thar  ?  "  demanded  the  old  man 
breathlessly. 

"  Yes,  sir !  "  said  Jube.  He  paused  to  look  at  the  sky, 
dark  and  fully  instarred  now ;  all  its  scintillating  splendors 
were  suddenly  quenched  into  neutral  monotony,  while  a 
ghastly  quiver  of  sheet  lightning  broadly  fluctuated  through 
the  infinite  spaces  of  the  firmament,  and  over  the  long, 
lonely  stretches  of  wood  and  mountain.  Then  it  died  away, 
leaving  the  constellations  supreme  in  the  night,  and  the  dark 
stillness  brooding  in  the  woods. 

"  He  got  plumb  up  ter  the  winder,  sir,  'cordin  ter  Clem," 
Jube  continued  cautiously. 

"  An'  —  an'  —  what  did  he  see  ?  "  interrupted  the  parson. 
"  He  stumbled  an'  fell  right  at  the  winder,  an'  they  hearn 
the  noise  inside,  an'  in  a  minit  it  war  all  dark  an'  still  in 
the  forge,  'ceptin'  that  the  doors  they  shut  with  a  bang. 
Clem  went  in  ;  he  fund  nuthin'  an'  nobody.  A  leetle  fire 
smouldered  on  the  h'ath,  but  the  anvil  war  a-ringin'  like  all 
possessed."  . 

Parson  Donnard  sat  with  a  rigid  face,  but  half  revealed 
by  the  dull  light  that  came  from  the  fire  within,  and  all  un 
noted  by  his  careless  son.  He  had  possessed  himself  anew 
of  his  stick,  and  had  resumed  his  accustomed  attitude,  his 
hands  clasped  upon  the  head  of  the  stout  cane,  and  his  chin 
resting  upon  them.  But  these  hands  were  unsteady,  and 
now  and  again  his  lips  trembled.  He  was  secretly  aware, 
as  he  gazed  out  into  the  blank  darkness,  that  the  vision  he 
had  seen  was  revealed  in  a  manner  merely  to  his  spiritual 
sight.  It  was  rather  suggested  to  his  own  insulted  moral 
perceptions  by  the  future  possibilities  to  the  jocund  group. 
In  fact,  he  had  not  intended  his  description  of  it  literally  ; 
he  had  given  it  in  some  sort  as  a  parable,  the  version  of  the 
actual  scene  translated  by  an  acute  and  anxious  discern 
ment.  He  had  never  gauged  the  limits  of  his  own  credu- 


144   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

lity  in  the  visions  of  others,  and  he  did  not  at  the  time  real 
ize  that  he  overstepped  the  bounds  of  verity  when  he  con 
strued  the  tableau  according  to  the  moral  needs  of  his 
hearers.  It  was  salutary  that  Satan  should  sit  upon  the 
anvil  amidst  that  merry  crew,  and  visibly  rejoice  in  their 
wicked  sports.  And  who  knows  but  that  he  did  !  The  par 
son  claimed  the  benefit  of  the  doubt,  and  the  vision  of  his 
spiritual  eye  was  thereby  improved.  The  idea  was  eminently 
restrictive  and  calculated  to  impress  Clem  Sanders  that  he 
himself,  in  some  future  reflective  mood,  should  gaze  back 
through  the  windows  of  memory,  solemn  and  regretful,  upon 
the  futile  wasted  hours  of  a  riotous  youth.  The  parson's 
figurative  language  had  unforeseen  possibilities,  and  had  set 
the  "  harnt  "  of  a  living  man  a-walking  before  its  time.  He 
had  not  concerned  himself  greatly  with  the  misapprehension 
when  it  first  came  to  his  notice.  He  had  not  dreamed  of 
strange  consequences  astir.  Despite  the  natural  strength 
of  his  mind,  his  uncultivated  instinctive  knowledge  of  human 
nature,  his  gift  of  rude  eloquence,  he  was  densely  ignorant, 
saturated  in  superstition,  and  even  his  religion  held  alter 
nating  elements  of  terror  and  of  bliss.  He  began  to  fear 
that  thus  unguardedly  speaking  a  judgment  was  to  be  sent 
upon  him.  His  hasty  figurative  words,  unjustifiably  used, 
were  forthwith  made  true.  He  thought,  poor  soul,  that  he 
had  conjured  up  the  devil,  to  stalk  abroad  in  Broomsedge 
Cove,  where,  as  well  he  knew,  the  denizens  were  ill  pre 
pared  to  meet  him !  Not  in  the  guise  of  a  ravening  wolf, 
nor  a  black  dog,  but  "  bat-wise,"  gigantic  and  weird,  a  crea 
ture  of  the  night,  accompanied  by  that  familiar,  yet  horribly 
unfamiliar,  presentment  of  the  blacksmith.  "  I  hev  gin 
Clem  over.  I  hev  los'  my  sheep."  He  groaned  aloud  in 
the  misery  of  his  reflections. 

Perhaps  it  was  the  courage  of  desperation,  the  unrecog 
nized  hope  that  never  dies  till  every  vital  spark  be  extinct, 
perhaps  only  the  stanch  and  adventurous  spirit  of  the  old 
mountaineer,  —  woodsman  and  hunter  as  well  as  parson,  — 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       145 

that  nerved  him  to  say,  "  It  air  some  human  critter,  mebbe, 
bent  on  no  good."  Then  he  presently  observed,  "  Jube,  I 
be  goin'  ter  watch  that  thar  forge  this  night,  an'  every  night 
till  I  see  who  it  air  ez  kerns." 

Jube  recoiled.  "  Lord  A'mighty,  dad,  /  would  n't  fur 
nuthin'.  'Pears  like  ye  ought  n't  ter  resk  it."  Then  gather 
ing  reassurance  with  the  reflection,  *•  Mam  won't  let  ye,  no- 
now." 

"  Thar  ain't  no  need  for  her  to  know  it."  And  after  a 
pause,  %<  I  ain't  a-goin'  ter  tell  her,"  added  the  parson. 

Mrs.  Donnard,  the  best  of  wives,  would  willingly  have 
sacrificed  the  whole  congregation  rather  than  let  the  parson 
risk  an  encounter  with  the  enemy.  Parson  Donnard  knew 
it  was  necessary  to  sedulously  hold  his  tongue  in  order  to  be 
able  to  keep  his  own  resolution,  and  thus  her  devotion,  mak 
ing  his  cause  her  own,  cherishing  enmities  for  his  sake,  tol 
erating  friendships,  sharing  alike  haps  and  mishaps  —  at  last 
resulted  in  exclusion  from  his  confidence  !  It  was  a  lesson 
of  doubtful  expediency  for  Jube  to  observe  the  disingenuous- 
ness  of  the  parson,  as  like  unto  other  men  as  if  he  had  felt 
no  outpouring  of  the  spirit,  while  he  ate  the  good  supper 
that  she  had  cooked,  and  wore  a  placid  and  incidental  coun 
tenance,  and  lighted  his  pipe  after  the  meal  was  concluded, 
and  established  himself  upon  the  porch  in  a  definite  and  set 
tled  manner  as  if  a  fixture  for  the  evening.  And  how,  with 
his  own  practice  to  the  contrary,  should  he  preach  to  Jube, 
and  young  people  generally,  upon  the  beauty  of  confidence 
in  the  family  relations,  of  the  dangers  of  secrecy,  of  the 
necessity  of  setting  good  examples,  and  of  amply  and 
quickly  returning  the  blessings  that  one  enjoys  of  fine  traits 
in  others  by  double  measure  to  them,  pressed  down  and  run 
ning  over ! 

The  unconscious  Mrs.  Donnard,  almost  pathetic  in  her 
unconsciousness,  scoured  the  skillet  with  ashes,  and  now  and 
again  lifted  her  voice  and  sang  a  fragmentary  measure, 
broken  by  leaning  down  and  rising  up,  and  mounting  upon 


146   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

chairs  to  place  plates  and  sundry  other  table  ware  upon  the 
high  shelf,  otherwise  beyond  her  reach.  Once  the  hiatus 
was  occasioned  by  the  parson,  who  put  his  head  into  the 
door  to  say  he  was  "  obligated  "  to  go  down  to  the  Settle 
ment  to  see  how  Eli  Strobe  was,  when  she  placidly  assented, 
and  went  on  singing  as  before.  It  was  Jube  who,  looking 
in  at  her  cheerful  industry,  felt  the  pang  of  remorse,  —  he 
the  good-for-naught ;  not  the  worthy  parson,  plodding  off, 
feeling  that  she  knew  as  much  as  was  good  for  her. 

Jube  went  too,  having  volunteered  in  an  unguarded 
moment  —  repenting  of  it  immediately  afterward,  but  un 
able  to  extricate  himself  —  to  show  his  father  a  certain 
choice  coigne  of  vantage  on  the  mountain  above,  where  one 
could  easily  overlook  the  road  and  the  forge,  and  yet  be  at 
a  considerable  distance.  "  It 's  so  steep  a  body  mought  slip 
spang  down  onto  the  roof,  ef  ye  didn't  scotch  yerse'f  with 
a  bowlder.  Git  ahint  one  o'  them  bowlders,  —  that 's  the 
dinctum." 

The  moon  had  sunk  in  the  unknown  world  behind  Chil- 
howee.  The  blackness  on  the  earth  was  dense  and  un 
broken,  save  that  here  and  there  the  flare  from  some  cabin 
that  they  passed  revealed  the  vague  outline  of  the  building, 
the  dully  illuminated  oblong  space  of  the  open  doorway,  a 
few  zigzag  lines  of  the  rail  fence  close  at  hand  thus  sug 
gesting  the  features  of  the  familiar  scenes  which  the  night 
had  annulled.  Above,  the  stars  blazed  in  great  glory  and 
a  scintillating  multiplicity,  but  gave  little  appreciable  light, 
and  the  parson  was  glad  that  Jube,  with  his  younger  eyes 
and  his  active  step,  was  with  him,  when  they  began  to  toil 
up  a  rugged  and  brambly  pathless  ascent.  The  old  man 
struggled  valiantly  along,  —  they  had  passed  through  the 
Settlement,  the  father  observing  to  the  son,  by  way  of  keep 
ing  his  word  to  Mrs.  Donnard,  that  they  would  stop  and 
inquire  for  Eli  Strobe  upon  their  homeward  way,  if  it  were 
not  then  too  late,  —  and  he  was  beset  by  the  terror  of  meet 
ing  some  one  of  his  flock  here  and  now,  where  his  errand 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       147 

would  be  inexplicable.  He  plunged  boldly  among  the 
briers  ;  he  toiled  through  steep  stony  passes  ;  he  puffed, 
and  tugged,  and  made  every  hearty  effort  to  swiftly  betake 
himself  out  of  the  way  of  any  accidental  encounter.  Once 
a  sudden  stir  in  the  bushes  hard  by  caused  his  heart  to 
spring  into  his  throat,  and  his  quick  mind  to  anxiously  can 
vass  some  hobbling  methods  of  explaining  his  position,  — 
the  next  moment,  the  mellow  clangor  of  a  cow-bell ;  the 
creature  was  lying  belated,  perhaps,  on  the  slope,  and  had 
moved  her  head,  hearing  their  steps,  and  no  more. 

He  was  indefinably  perplexed  and  embarrassed  by  an 
odd,  unrecognizable  change  in  Jube.  A  sort  of  half-subdued 
hilarity  grated  on  him,  sundry  smothered  guffaws,  gleeful 
allusions  to  previous  capers,  of  which  the  parson  had  never 
heard  and  vaguely  understood.  Only  now  and  then  did 
Jube  subside,  with  a  returning  realization  of  the  identity  of 
his  companion.  For  the  night  air,  the  mountain  wind,  the 
secrecy,  the  excitement,  the  quivering  expectancy  of  their 
errand,  had  begun  to  make  themselves  felt  in  Jube's  blood, 
—  a  rapid  current,  and  susceptible  of  considerable  elation 
and  exhilaration.  The  spirit  of  adventure  was  astir  within 
him,  and  only  at  times  was  dashed  by  the  remembrance 
that  the  parson  was  —  the  parson. 

AVhen  they  reached  their  objective  point,  Parson  Don- 
nard  sank  down  upon  a  ledge  of  rock  that  his  son  indicated 
to  him,  his  knees  against  a  bowlder  lying  hard  by,  that  he 
might  not  slide  down  the  steep  incline  upon  the  very  roof 
of  the  forge.  He  noted  how  he  seemed  to  face  the  great 
concave  of  the  sky,  how  definite  the  western  mountains 
stood  against  the  starry  expanse,  and  how  distinct  certain 
objects  had  become  even  in  the  pitchy  blackness,  now  that 
his  eyes  were  in  some  sort  accustomed  to  it. 

l'  Thar 's  the  forge,  right  down  yander  under  this  laidge," 
observed  Jube,  with  that  wild  gayety  in  his  tone  which  be 
wildered  the  old  man,  who  deprecated  it.  "  Ef  ye  war  ter 
lean  over,  dad,  an'  stretch  out  yer  arm.  yer  hand  would  be 


148      THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMS  EDGE   COVE. 

plumb  over  the  chimbly.  Laws-a-massy  "  —  Jube  rocked 
himself  in  the  joy  of  his  reminiscence  —  "  don't  I  'member 
how  me  an'  some  o'  them  t'other  boys  got  up  hyar  one 
night,  an'  drapped  a  leetle  gunpowder  down  into  the  chim 
bly.  An'  Clem  say,  '  Lord  A'mighty  what 's  that  ?  '  An' 
then  I  drapped  a  leetle  mo'  yit,  an'  Clem  hollered,  skeered, 
till  suddint  he  smelt  it,  an'  out  he  kem  with  a  bar  o'  red- 
hot  iron  in  his  hand,  a-dustin'  up  the  mounting.  'T  war  a 
dark  night,  an'  he  jes'  looked  plumb  like  the  devil  hisself." 

"  Hesh,  Jube,  hesh  !  ye  air  talkin'  mighty  loud."  The 
old  man  shrank  from  the  sound  of  his  voice. 

"  An'  I  seen  him,"  continued  Jube,  "  an'  durned  ef  I 
war  n't  so  full  o'  laff  that  I  los'  my  balance,  an'  fell  right 
down  thar  plumb  onter  the  roof.  Clem  clomb  up  an'  got 
me,  he  did !  But  the  t'others  hed  runned  off  through  the 
woods." 

"  Jube,  jes'  see  ef  ye  can't  shet  up  fur  awhile,"  said  the 
poor  parson. 

"  Waal,"  remonstrated  Jube,  "  I  jes'  want  ter  tell  ye  how 
I  kep'  Clem  from  bastin'  me  'count  o'  that  trick.  Oh,  ho  ! 
't  war  the  funniest  joke  on  Clem  ;  liked  ter  never  hearn  the 
e-end  o'  it,  an'  "  — 

"  I  don't  want  ter  hear  no  joke,"  said  Parson  Donnard 
sternly  and  ill  at  ease  ;  perhaps  he  felt  a  personified  joke 
himself,  perched  on  the  beetling  ledges  of  the  mountain  in 
the  middle  of  the  night,  in  imminent  danger  of  rheumatism, 
and  in  the  society  of  his  rollicking  son.  It  would  be  a  gay 
da'y  for  the  flock  of  Brother  Ezekiel  Johns,  in  Piomingo 
Cove,  if  his  enterprise  and  position  should  be  discovered, 
and,  failing,  should  become  ridiculous.  Draw  as  he  might 
on  his  large  resources  of  explanation,  his  license  of  meta 
phor  and  spiritual  phrasing,  he  could  not  justify  the  facts 
with  the  frivolous  Jube  in  company. 

"  This  air  a  solemn  'casion,  an'  we  hev  kem  out,  it  may 
be,  ter  meet  the  Enemy.  'Pears  ter  me  ye  air  a  mighty 
junketin'  an'  jiggetty  sort  o'  boy  fur  a  pa'son's  son,  gigglin' 
an'  jokin'  all  the  time." 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.        149 

The  parson  spoke  with  acrimony ;  perhaps  at  that  moment 
he  himself  would  have  administered  with  right  good  will 
"  the  bastin'  "  that  Clem  had  spared. 

u  No  use  ter  take  arter  me  kase  the  devil  kerns  a-lopin' 
'round  in  Brumsaidge,"  retorted  Jube,  surlily.  "  I  hain't 
hed  no  dealin's  with  the  devil."  He  spoke  of  the  Enemy 
familiarly  ;  he  was  accustomed  to  hear  so  much  of  him. 
u  Ef  I  war  a-talkin',  't  would  n't  hender  him  none  from 
kemin' ;  he  ain't  afeard  o'  me,  I  reckon." 

He  relapsed,  however,  into  silence,  preserving  a  wounded 
manner  which  was  of  great  avail  generally  with  his  parents, 
and  which  advertised  that  some  one  had  been  "  tromplin' 
on  his  feelin's,"  as  he  was  wont  to  phrase  it. 

The  night  was  wearing  on :  once  the  glittering  dart  of  a 
falling  star  shot  swiftly  athwart  the  dark  expanse.  They 
could  hear  the  pensive  night  sigh  in  its  reverie.  Jube  now 
and  again  shifted  his  position,  a  few  loose  stones  rolling 
beneath  his  feet.  The  tedium  of  the  delay  wore  heavily 
upon  him.  Once  as  the  clarion  note  of  a  cock  rang  out, 
with  its  response  from  the  echoing  crags,  he  ventured  to 
say  in  a  low  voice,  "  Thar  now !  "  as  a  reproach  for  the 
lateness  of  the  hour.  And  more  than  once  afterward  he 
yawned  with  ostentatious  fatigue.  Differently,  indeed,  had 
the  time  been  beguiled  when  he  and  his  cronies  awaited 
the  propitious  moment  to  throw  gunpowder  into  the  smith's 
forge  fire.  But  then  the  bellows  was  at  work,  with  its  noisy 
respirations,  and  the  anvil  clamored,  and  the  behests  of 
secrecy  were  not  inconsistent  with  sound.  Now  the  forge 
in  the  black  abyss  below  was  as  silent  as  the  grave,  —  as 
dark.  No  stir  save  that  of  the  torrent  in  the  deep  obscurity 
of  its  channel,  its  current  throbbing  like  the  pulse  of  the 
night.  No  light  in  all  the  world,  —  not  even  at  Eli  Strobe's 
cabin,  where  the  watchers'  candle  by  the  bedside  had  burned 
late ;  no  light  save  the  glister  of  the  great  stars. 

Suddenly  —  the  parsan's  hand  falls  with  a  light  touch 
on  Jube's  ;  a  step  along  the  road,  was  it  ?  The  wind  —  a 


loO   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

vagrant  blast  —  comes  a-rustling  down  and  stirs  the  dust ; 
the  dry,  arid  scent  of  it  rises  to  their  perch  ;  and  again  a 
step.  Distinct  now,  a  regular  advancing  footfall  along  the 
road,  so  dark,  so  dark  under  that  glittering  array  of  all  the 
hosts  of  heaven.  An  approach,  a  sound  —  no  more  !  But 
was  the  echo  so  strong,  so  keen,  or  was  the  step  followed 
closely  by  another  ? 

The  parson's  breath  came  in  quick  gasps  through  his  half- 
parted  dry  lips.  He  trembled  throughout  all  his  gaunt 
frame.  For  the  footfalls  had  followed  the  road  at  the  base 
of  the  mountain,  and  had  paused  at  the  door  of  the  forge. 

All  at  once  the  old  man,  quivering  on  the  ledge,  started 
violently,  and  came  near  falling  into  the  depths  below,  res 
cuing  himself  only  by  the  strong  clutch  of  his  sinewy  hands 
at  the  jagged  rock  on  which  he  sat.  For  a  sound  had  is 
sued  into  the  null  silence,  —  a  long,  terrible,  jarring  sound. 
A  wild,  fantastic  mimicry  of  a  crowing  cock,  ending  in  a 
sonorous  wail,  profaned  the  solemn  stillness,  and  was  stri 
dent  in  all  the  echoes,  The  next  moment  his  angry  blood 
was  throbbing  in  his  temples.  Jube's  arms  were  still  flap 
ping  in  his  grotesque  mockery,  and  his  gay,  inadvertent 
laugh  rang  out,  forgetful  of  all  in  the  ecstatic  opportunity,  — 
of  his  father,  their  solemn  mission,  the  purpose  of  the  in 
vaders  of  the  forge,  the  spiritual  enemy  ;  boisterously  joy 
ing  in  the  sudden  exclamation  of  fear  below  and  the  quick 
retreating  footfalls. 

"  Stop !  Stop  !  Who  be  that  down  thar  ?  "  exclaimed 
the  parson's  authoritative  voice.  "  War  ye  a-wantin'  ter  get 
in  the  forge  ?  " 

A  momentary  silence  below,  —  seemingly  a  whisper  ;  then, 
"  Whar  's  that  thar  rooster  ?  Naw  ;  I  war  jes'  a-goin'  ter 
turn  roun'.  I  kem  down  hyar  ter  inquire  arter  Eli  Strobe, 
'lowin'  they  'd  watch  all  night,  an'  I  would  n't  hev  time  ter- 
morrer  ;  but  I  see  the  house  air  dark." 

"  Who  be  ye  ?     What  's  yer  name  ?  "  asked  the  parson. 

Again  a  momentary  hesitation.  Then,  "  Ain't  that  Pa'- 
son  Donnard  ?  " 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       151 

The  old  man  writhed  under  the  cumbrous  dignity  of  his 
identity.  How  much  easier  and  happier  just  now  to  be 
Jube,  burdened  with  no  veneration  of  the  community  to  live 
up  to  !  He  had  never  tasted  the  bitterness  of  such  humility 
as  he  experienced  now. 

"  I  be  Pa'son  Donnard,"  he  said  as  sonorously  as  he  might, 
"  a  sarvent  of  the  Lord." 

Another  vague  whisper.  Then,  aloud,  "  Laws-a-massy, 
pa'son,  what  be  ye  a-doin'  of  up  in.  the  mounting  in  the 
middle  of  the  night  ?  —  nigh  day,  ef  the  truth  war  knowed." 

"  I  kern  out,"  said  the  parson  slowly,  "  ter  wrastle  with 
the  sperit."  He  did  not  think  it  needful  to  say  in  what 
sense. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  the  voice  below,  with  an  intonation  of 
deep  respect.  "  I  never  would  hev  'lowed  't  war  you-uns, 
though.  I  never  war  so  skeered  !  " 

The  parson  stuttered  in  his  haste.  Whatever  construc 
tion  might  be  placed  upon  his  intentions  and  the  hour,  he 
would  repudiate  that  wild  vocalization  of  the  crowing  Jube's. 

"  I  hev  brung  my  son  along;  I  hev  got  Jube  up  hyar." 

"  Edzac'ly,"  said  Jube,  with  a  facetiously  accurate  hic 
cough. 

"  Air  Jube  a-wrastlin'  with  the  sperit,  too  ?  "  demanded 
the  unknown  from  below ;  the  intention  of  the  scoffer  was 
in  his  tone. 

"  Ye  shet  up,"  said  Jube,  promptly.  "  I  know  ye.  I 
know  yer  voice.  Ye  be  Jake  Baintree.  "  I  '11  kern  down 
an'  wrastle  with  you-uns,  fust  thing  ye  know." 

In  the  interval  a  sudden  faint  flicker  of  sheet  lightning 
wavered  across  the  dark  world.  Jube's  eyes  were  young 
and  very  keen. 

"  Who  be  that  thar  with  ye  ?  "  he  cried  out  in  a  changed 
tone. 

An  interval  —  was  it  cogitation  ?  was  it  consultation  ? 

"  Nobody,"  said  Jake  Baintree  sturdily,  —  "  nobody  be 
with  me." 


152        THE  DESIOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE. 

"I  'lowed  I  seen  somebody  jes'  now,"  urged  Jube. 

"  Shadder,  I  reckon,"  said  the  voice  unconcernedly. 
"  Good-night." 

He  moved  off  into  the  obscurity,  and  Jube  sank  down  be 
side  his  father,  laying  an  excited  clutch  on  his  arm.  "  Thar 
war  another  man  with  him,  a  strange  man,  dressed  diff'ent, 
ez  I  never  see  afore."  He  listened  to  the  retreating  foot 
falls.  "  Thar  air  two  of  'em,  —  two  of  'em,  keeping  step 
keerful,  and  walking  like  one  man  !  " 

The  parson  rose,  his  stiff  joints  creaking. 

"  I  don't  keer  ef  thar  be  forty,  or  a  hunderd.  An'  ef 
Satan  hev  got  a  mind,  he  kin  set  on  the  anvil  down  yander 
or  work  at  the  forge  ez  a  constancy  'fore  I  '11  be  fool  enough 
agin  ter  kem  out  in  the  dark  an'  roost  up  on  a  laidge  on 
the  mounting  ter  spy  him  out,  alongside  o'  sech  a  tumble, 
turrible,  disobejient  miser'ble  critter  ez  ye  hev  kem  ter  be. 
They  'lowed  't  war  me  a-crowin',  —  me,  the  pa'son  !  " 

"  I  plumb  forgot,  dad,"  said  the  contrite  Jube. 

"  An'  Jake  Baintree,  what  I  refused  ter  baptize  !  This 
tale  will  go  the  rounds  o'  the  kentry ! 


IX. 

IT  was  indeed  before  the  dawn  that  Teck  Jepson  set  forth 
on  his  journey.  Upon  the  ultimate  heights  of  the  zenith 
midnight  had  poised,  and  had  thence  flitted  away  into  those 
unrealized  spaces  whither  all  that  has  been  goes  at  last. 
Constellations  that  he  lately  knew  as  familiars  of  the 
meridian  hung  low,  in  this  unaccustomed  hour,  about  the 
western  horizon.  Unwonted  influences  were  astir  in  the 
brain.  A  sense  of  spiritual  freshness,  of  bodily  renewal, 
of  aloofness  from  the  world,  possessed  the  hour,  —  a  free 
dom  from  the  dominant  mundane  spirit  that  had  swayed 
the  day  before.  The  dark  earth  lay,  as  it  were,  uncreated 
in  the  immense  voids  of  the  night.  The  soul  seemed  nearer 
its  nativity,  fresh  from  the  hands  of  the  Creator.  In  this 
isolation  of  identity,  this  perfect  poise,  this  reverent  cogni 
zance  of  high  solemnities,  it  seemed  that  one's  lips  might 
be  opened,  that  one  might  prophesy  or  sing  some  psalmodic 
inspiration,  so  replete  with  the  sense  of  fine  bestowals  was 
the  time. 

The  day  was  still  afar  off.  The  cattle  slept  as  he  went 
out  to  the  pinfold  by  the  light  of  the  stars,  but  the  patient 
creatures  roused  themselves,  and  came  forth  with  quiescent 
obedience  ;  a  calf  bleated,  running  to  overtake  its  dam,  the 
dominant  sound  in  the  stillness,  and  the  sheep  huddled 
together  in  chilly  guise  as  they  went.  There  was  a  light 
presently  in  the  windows  of  the  house,  yellow  and  lucent, 
but  Jepson  did  not  go  back  when  once  he  had  quitted  the 
cabin  ;  the  farewell  to  the  children  would  be  rather  pain 
than  pleasure ;  there  was  even  a  pang  in  parting  with  the 
old  dog,  who  persisted  in  following  him  for  a  time,  driven 


154   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

back  at  last  with  harsh  words  and  a  purposely  ill-aimed 
stone.  Jepson  could  not  see,  but  he  knew  how  the  creature 
crouched  in  the  darkness,  with  its  reproachful  and  surprised 
eyes ;  then  turning,  and  coweringly  running  back  to  the 
doorstep.  The  half-grown  puppy  watched  the  departure 
with  the  intense  interest  naturally  elicited  by  so  unusual  a 
proceeding,  then  affecting  to  misconstrue  the  whole  inci 
dent,  and  with  an  elaborate  ignoring  of  old  acquaintance, 
he  barked  furiously  into  the  darkness,  not  desisting  when 
a  shrill  interpolated  yelp  betokened  a  reproving  kick  from 
Bowles,  but  continuing  his  clamors  of  threatening  distrust 
after  he  had  sought  a  refuge  under  the  house,  where  no  in 
terference  could  reach  him.  Far  down  the  mountain  his 
callow  tones  could  be  heard,  as  Jepson  rode  at  the  rear  of 
the  little  group  of  cattle  and  sheep. 

The  wind  was  awake,  inconceivably  fresh,  albeit  hardly 
a  leaf  stirred,  so  light  of  foot  it  was.  A  fragrance  like 
some  fine  elixir  was  distilled  from  the  wayside  flower  hid 
den  in  the  gloom.  The  morning  star,  so  luminously  still, 
so  splendid,  looked  over  the  mountains  as  he  journeyed  with 
his  flocks.  A  vague  illumination  was  in  the  spaces  sur 
rounding  it ;  one  might  see  that  this  sky  wore  an  ineffably 
poetic  tint,  did  it  but  care  to  doff  its  sombre  cloak.  How 
massive  the  mountains,  —  how  glooming  and  austere  their 
summit  lines,  against  the  dark  instarred  skies  !  And  sud 
denly  a  bird  is  moved  to  sing,  —  a  note  of  supreme  glad 
ness,  of  joyous  augury  ?  For  what  does  the  night  signify 
but  that  the  morning  is  on  the  way  ?  So  close  was  Jepson 
to  the  tree  whence  this  herald  proclaimed  the  day  that  he 
could  hear  the  rustle  of  the  wings  as  the  creature  plumed 
them,  and  anon  a  low  twittering  as  it  settled  down  upon  the 
bough  for  a  little  waiting,  —  a  little  waiting  yet.  And  lo  ! 
the  light  comes,  gray  with  vapor,  and  pale,  and  pensive, 
only  won  to  flushes  and  to  smiles  when  the  great  sun,  rid 
ing  hard  upon  the  first  glimmer,  shows  its  vermilion  disk, 
hung  about  with  amber  and  violet  vapors,  in  the  gap  of 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BltOOMSEDGE   COTE.       loo 

the  mountains,  urgent  to  look  upon  the  world  before  their 
utmost  heights  are  scaled.  How  purple  the  slopes ;  how 
the  pearly  mists  slipped  down  ;  and  what  long,  burnished, 
yellow  slanting  rays  shot  athwart  the  world  to  touch 
Chilhowee,  —  nay,  the  far-away  dim  summit  of  Walden's 
Ridge,  —  while  the  vast  stretches  of  country  beneath,  in  a 
still  amethystine  shadow,  lay  motionless  and  waited  !  And 
here,  alack,  was  his  own  old  identity,  full  of  perplexed 
thoughts,  and  troublous  forecasting,  and  vain  regrets.  Here, 
too,  as  if  the  sun  had  brought  it  with  the  sight  of  the 
familiar  world,  was  the  sense  of  vicinage,  close,  imperative, 
not  to  be  evaded,  with  the  events  of  yesterday,  the  one 
coercive  factor  of  to-day.  Mrs.  Bowles  might  have  won 
dered  to  know  the  direction  he  took,  —  not,  in  fulfillment 
of  her  disparaging  prophecy,  across  the  line  into  North 
Carolina.  Straight  down  the  mountain  he  was  going,  — 
straight  into  Broom  sedge  Cove.  How  fast  tfyose  coursers 
of  the  sun  did  speed,  already  there,  betimes !  Albeit  so 
far  away  as  the  miles  counted,  Jepson  could  see  from  the 
great  heights  of  the  slopes  the  red  gold  flare  in  the  deep 
gulf  of  the  purple  range,  where  the  lucent  fresh  light  struck 
upon  the  long-abandoned  spaces  usurped  by  the  tawny-tinted 
growths  of  Broomsedge  Cove.  His  face  wore  no  longer 
that  wide-eyed,  uplifted,  meditative  look  it  had  in  the  earlier 
plastic  poetic  hours.  It  was  introspective,  pondering  ;  it 
bore  anew  the  inscrutable  script  of  experience,  of  emotion. 
Once  or  twice  only  the  cattle  called  for  his  attention ;  with 
a  turn  of  the  mare  on  the  flank  of  the  column,  and  the  loud 
remonstrant  barking  of  his  dog  harassing  the  stragglers, 
they  were  once  more  jogging  along  the  accustomed  way. 
At  length,  however  the  foremost  of  the  company  came  al 
most  to  a  stand  with  a  suppressed  low  of  surprise,  and  then, 
insistently  burly,  the  animals  occupied  the  whole  path,  leav 
ing  a  man  they  had  met  to  stand  and  wait  by  the  wayside. 
He  held  one  palm  over  his  eyes,  for  the  sun  came  directly 
into  his  face,  and  gazed  doubtfully  at  the  equestrian 


156        THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOM  SEDGE   COVE. 

figure  at  the  rear  of  the  column.  But  Jepson  had  noted 
him,  and  the  recognition  became  mutual  as  he  drew  rein 
beneath  the  great  ledge  of  the  rocks  where  Baintree  stood. 
As  he  looked  up  at  the  horseman,  there  was  so  shocked  a 
disappointment  on  his  face  that  it  seemed  wonderful  that  an 
emotion  could  be  so  definitely  expressed  without  words. 

Jepson  waited  a  moment  for  him  to  speak.  But  Bain- 
tree,  still  silent,  gazed  at  him.  "  Ye  'lowed  up  yander  ter 
Bowles's  yestiddy,"  said  Jepson  at  last,  "  ez  ye  be  powerful 
glad  I  war  arrested,  —  I  ain't  been  yit,  —  an'  ez  ye  'd  like 
ter  see  how  I  'd  look  in  a  cage  like  Dan'l." 

Baintree  made  a  feint  of  denial.  "  Did  Mis'  Bowles  'low 
I  said  sech  ?  "  he  demanded.  "  Waal,  I  jes'  tole  her  the 
fust  thing  ez  kem  ter  the  tip  o'  my  tongue.  She  'peared  so 
sharp  set  fur  the  news." 

Jepson  looked  casually  down  at  him,  then  away  at  the  far 
blue  horizon.  "  I  'm  goin'  ter  Brumsaidge  now,  an'  ef  they 
wanter  arrest  me  they  kin  an'  welcome ;  an'  though  I  ain't 
yit  got  the  Lord  so  ez  he  sets  ez  much  store  by  me  ez  he 
done  by  Dan'l,  I  ain't  no  mo'  'feared  o'  nuthin'  'n  him.  I 
be  ekal  ter  answerin'  fur  all  I  done,  an'  I  be  more  'n  willin'." 

There  was  something  splendid  and  imposing  in  his  bold 
ness,  and  in  his  stalwart  pride  in  his  courage.  He  turned 
his  unflinching  gaze  down  to  meet  the  intelligent  and  crafty 
albeit  vacillating  eyes  of  Jake  Baintree,  in  which  there  was 
a  sort  of  reluctant  envy,  despite  the  rancorous  enmity  they 
intimated. 

"  Ye  hev  got  ter  try  it  fust,"  he  said  significantly,  remem 
bering  the  stress  of  his  own  ordeals,  and  that  this  was  but 
the  valor  of  prognostication.  The  facts  would  probably 
soon  alter  the  outlook.  He  nodded  his  head  convincingly. 

"  Sech  ez  I  do,"  said  the  valorous  saint,  "  air  done  afore 
the  Lord !  An'  I  ain't  keerin'  what  men  say  ahint  my  back, 
so  long  ez  they  take  powerful  keerful  heed  o'  thar  words 
afore  my  face ;  ef  they  don't,  I  know  how  ter  make  'em 
wish  they  hed." 


THE   DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       157 

Jake  Baintree  failed,  apparently,  to  comprehend  the  spirit 
of  this  challenge.  He  looked  absently  at  the  red  cow  crop 
ping  the  grass  in  the  niches  at  the  base  of  the  cliff  that 
towered  above  their  heads,  and  then  his  restless  eye  followed 
the  silver-tipped  wings  of  a  bird,  flying  in  the  sunshine,  up 
ward,  upward,  with  open  beak  and  a  joyous  matutinal  cry, 
cleaving  the  mists  with  a  glancing  line  of  light,  and  seem 
ing  bound  for  some  haven  in  the  splendid  placidity  of  the 
blue  sky,  so  serene  and  so  high.  The  dew  exhaled  incense. 
Far  away  a  fawn  bleated,  where  doubtless  it  lay  with  its 
clam  in  the  thick  coverts  of  the  laurel.  The  balsam  firs, 
all  a-glitter,  gave  out  a  sense  of  strength  and  infinite  fresh 
ness,  and  of  all  the  finer  values  of  respiration  ;  in  such  air 
it  was  a  definite  joy  to  be  endowed  with  the  sheer  capacity 
to  breathe.  As  his  wandering  glance  came  back  he  caught 
Jepson's  eyes  upon  him,  and  he  was  vaguely  embarrassed 
for  the  moment.  He  put  one  foot  on  tbe  blade  of  the  spade 
that  he  had  in  his  hand,  and  leaning  upon  the  handle  he 
looked  up,  his  inscrutable  eyes  narrowing  and  full  of  close 
and  guarded  thought. 

"  What  war  ye  a-layin'  off  ter  say  ter  me  ?  Jes'  that  ?  " 
he  demanded. 

"  I  never  laid  off  ter  say  nuthin'  ter  you-uns,"  said  Jep- 
son,  loftily.  "  Ye  happen  ter  be  in  my  road.  I  ain't  keerin* 
ef  ye  onderstan'  or  no  sech  ez  I  am  mindin'  ter  say  an'  act. 
I  render  an  account  ter  the  Lord,  an'  I  walk  afore  him  !  I 
be  goin'  down  ter  Brumsaidge  ter  meet  the  days  ter  come. 
I  feel  ekal  ter  'em,  —  ter  what  the  Lord  mought  send." 

A  sudden  anxiety  flickered  over  Baintree's  face  ;  for  the 
first  time  he  noted  the  household  gear,  packed  in  a  tiny 
wagon  that  was  drawn  by  an  old  ox,  guided  only  by  his 
master's  voice  as  lie  rode  alongside,  and  the  number  of  cat 
tle  and  sheep.  This  was  evidently  a  permanent  removal. 

"  \Vhar  be  ye  a-goin'  ter  live  in  the  Cove  ?  "  he  demanded 
suddenly. 

"  "\Vhar  do  ye  reckon  ?  "  retorted  Jepson,  resenting  the 


158   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

supposed  curiosity  impelling  the  question.  "Ye  may  be 
sure  in  the  fear  o'  the  Lord,  an'  in  the  light  o'  his  face,  ef 
he  will  turn  it  on  me." 

He  lifted  his  head  with  a  most  mundane  pride  and  called 
aloud  to  his  cattle,  his  robust,  mellow  voice  echoing  along 
the  savage  steeps.  Then,  with  the  whole  pastoral  train 
once  more  in  motion,  he  rode  on  down  the  rugged  mountain 
ways,  sitting  with  a  proud  erectriess,  —  the  lingering  influ 
ence  of  his  arrogations  in  the  conversation,  —  his  broad  hat 
pushed  back  from  his  brow,  his  spirited  face  full  of  resolu 
tion  and  confidence  again,  and  with  that  imaginative,  medi 
tative  look  once  more  in  his  eyes ;  for,  urged  by  his  con 
tempt  for  the  man  from  whom  he  had  just  parted,  it  cost 
him  no  effort  to  discharge  his  flexible  mind,  almost  his  very 
memory,  of  the  conversation  and  of  the  existence  of  his 
late  companion.  But  he  could  not  keep  his  thoughts  upon 
congenial  themes.  Over  and  again,  to  be  sure,  he  reverted 
to  the  trend  of  his  habitual  meditations.  It  was  thus,  he 
reflected,  that  they  of  old  had  journeyed  with  their  flocks 
under  the  open  sky.  He  saw  Jacob's  cattle  instead  of  his 
own  slowly  tending  down  the  defiles  ;  now  and  again  he 
passed  a  bubbling  spring,  full  of  tinkling  tremors  of  sound 
stealing  out  into  the  silence  of  this  richly  luxuriant  land, 
and  to  him  it  was  a  "  well  of  springing  water  in  a  desert 
place ;  "  sheep  they  had  of  old,  and  kine,  and  horses,  and 
he  marveled  much  what  a  camel  might  be.  Then  sud 
denly,  with  a  deep  sigh,  he  was  again  striving  with  the  pur 
suing  pack  of  remorseful,  sharp-fanged  regrets,  falling  upon 
him  anew,  with  a  freshened  capacity  to  tear  and  mangle, 
recruited  in  that  short  respite.  With  the  veiled  future  be 
fore,  that  no  prescient  eye  might  even  vaguely  discern  ; 
with  an  urgent  sense  of  justification,  that  nevertheless  could 
not  justify  his  deed  to  himself ;  with  a  self-effacing  desire 
to  atone  for  what  he  felt  was  no  fault  of  his,  as  if  the  sac 
rifice  could  restore  all  as  it  was  at  this  hour  of  yesterday, 
he  reviewed  the  scene,  burnt  as  it  was  into  his  brain,  and 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOM  SEDGE  COVE.   159 

shrank  once  more  in  every  sensitive  fibre  from  the  barbed 
reproaches  of  Marcella's  soft  voice,  and  again  turned  aghast 
from  what  might  perchance  befall  Eli  Strobe. 

And  then  he  vibrated  to  that  other  mood,  his  splendid 
physique  rebounding  from  the  harassments  that  sought  to 
fix  upon  his  strong  nerves.  His  habit  of  robustly  ignoring 
aught  that  did  not  jump  with  his  humor  ;  his  imperious  and 
independent  poise  ;  his  impassivity  to  argument  and  the 
opinion  of  others ;  his  arrogant  arbitration  of  all  matters 
according  to  his  own  absolute  judgment,  that  recognized  no 
alternative,  no  higher  appeal,  save  his  tyrannical  interpreta 
tions  of  the  Lord's  will,  all  renewed  their  tenure,  and  he 
was  open  anew  to  the  influences  of  the  present.  Here  and 
there  his  receptive  fancy  was  struck  by  a  great  cairn  of 
stones,  fragments  of  rock  split  from  the  crags  above  by  the 
riving  frosts  of  immemorial  winters,  ahd  he  was  reminded 
afresh  of  the  altar  that  Jacob  piled,  and  of  the  resting- 
places  —  which  surely  the  Lord  frequented  —  of  this  jour 
neying  man  of  eld. 

"  Jacob  hed  powerful  strange  'speriences,"  he  broke  out. 
"  He  did  dream  s'prisin'.  An'  the  Lord's  voice  mus'  hev 
sounded  in  his  ears,  wakin'  an'  sleepin',  arter  he  once  hearn 
it.  I  could  n't  holp  feelin'  sorry  fur  Esau,  though." 

He  mechanically  noted  how  the  golden-rod  showered  its 
yellow  hoard,  as  his  stirrup-irons  struck  into  the  thick  way 
side  growth,  how  the  blooming  "  mountain  snow  "  brushed 
his  mare's  fine  coat. 

"It  never  did  'pear  ter  me  so  scandalous  redic'lous  ez 
Esau  war  hongry  arter  he  kem  from  huntin'.  This  air  a 
powerful  rough  k entry,  an'  the  air  is  brief.  —  I  fund  the 
diff'ence  out  whenst  I  went  down  yander  ter  them  valley 
towns,  time  Jake  Baintree  war  tried.  The  Bible  'lowed 
Esau  war  a  powerful  cunning  hunter,  bnt  never  said  nuthin' 
'bout  what  sorter  dogs  he  hed,  —  mought  n't  hev  been 
trained  to  trail,  an'  time  he  hed  pulled  'bout'n  the  mount 
ings  with  a  pack  o'  wuthless  hounds  arter  deer  or  b'ar  he 


ICO   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

war  'bleeged  ter  been  hongry  ;  but  he  ought  n't  ter  hev  sold 
his  birthright  fur  a  pot  oj  soup.'* 

He  shook  his  head  reprehensively  over  this  ancient  trans 
action.  "Esau  oughtn't  ter  hev  done  that,"  he  said,  as  if 
it  had  happened  yesterday. 

The  mare  suddenly  shied  from  a  pallid,  lightning-scathed 
tree  showing  abruptly  close  at  hand  as  the  path  curved.  He 
paused  for  a  moment,  but  the  interruption  did  not  divert 
the  current  of  his  reflections.  "Jacob,"  he  said,  "served 
seven  year  fur  Rachel,  an'  'lowed  't  war  like  one  day.  He 
b'lieved  in  Rachel.  The  Bible  'lows  she  war  plumb  beauti 
ful,  —  but  I  '11  be  bound  she  war  n't  nowhar  compared  ter 
Marcelly  "  —  He  broke  off  with  a  bitter  sigh  ;  his  face 
clouded ;  the  far-away  look  in  his  blue  eyes,  that  was  so  in 
consonant  with  the  force  and  boldness  of  his  features,  was 
gone  with  the  effect  of  a  sudden  metamorphosis,  —  abso 
lutely  unrecognizable.  He  gathered  up  the  reins  that  he 
had  suffered  to  lie  loose  on  the  mare's  neck,  and  lifted  his 
voice  in  a  melancholy  hymn,  and  sang  aloud  as  he  rode. 
Now  and  again  the  tones  rose  to  Jake  Baintree's  ears,  and 
once  as  Jepson  emerged  below  the  wealth  of  foliage  into  a 
rocky  space  he  saw  him  and  his  flock  and  herd  again ;  the 
animals  running  at  speed  down  the  declivities,  the  mare 
cantering  after,  while  the  rider  sang  aloud,  the  sound  vibra 
ting  back  and  forth  in  swinging  vigor  of  rhythm,  and  with 
the  multitudinous  echoes  seeming  as  if  the  whole  morning 
were  voicing  the  solemn  measure  of  an  anthem. 

Baintree,  as  he  leaned  on  his  spade,  his  hat  pulled  low 
over  his  uncertain  and  lowering  eyes,  had  an  expression  al 
together  at  variance  with  his  humble  rustic  garb,  so  crafty, 
so  keen,  it  was,  His  face  was  lined  with  anxiety  for  a  mo 
ment.  Once  he  started  impulsively  after  the  horseman, 
then  checked  himself  abruptly,  "  He  '11  git  thar  'fore  I  kin," 
he  remarked.  "  It 's  down  hill  all  the  way,  an'  they  '11 
keep  that  gait,  I  reckon." 

Already  the    song   was  faint;  already  the  echoes    were 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       161 

fitful.  The  wind  was  harping  in  the  pines  above  his  head ; 
he  glanced  up  to  see  them  gently  stirring;  a  great  buzzard 
majestically  circled  in  the  blue  sky ;  a  mist  on  the  mountain 
side  vanished,  as  the  broad  flare  of  the  sun  encountered  its 
ethereal  pallors,  like  some  belated  ghost  that  in  these  soli 
tudes  had  braved  the  monitory  cock-crow. 

"  He  '11  be  powerful  s'prised  when  he  does  get  thar,"  he 
muttered,  "  an'  that 's  all !  "  He  spoke  aloud,  his  anxious 
canvassing  resulting  in  reassurance.  He  laughed  a  little, 
his  thin  lips  curving.  "  He  's  a  mos'  survigrous  fool ;  "  he 
shook  his  head  in  contemplating  the  strength  of  the  folly 
that  Jepson  harbored.  "  He  ain't  goin'  ter  sense  nuthin'. 
He  '11  bound  round  hyar  an'  talk  'bout  the  Lord,  when  he 
air  so  fur  from  heaven  ez  the  Lord  hisself  can't  hear  him. 
An'  ennyhow,  he  11  git  'rested  so  soon  that  he  won't  hev 
much  chance  ter  wonder  an'  talk.  An'  I  '11  light  out  ter 
let  the  folks  in  Brumsaidge  know  ez  he  be  a-travelin'  round 
an'  a-purtendin'  ter  be  a-goin'  thar,  fur  mebbe  he  won't  go 
ter  his  cabin  arter  all." 

This  cabin  of  Jepson's  was  well  out  of  sight  from  the 
Settlement,  and  was  in  fact  some  miles  distant.  It  stood  on 
the  slope  of  the  deep  trough  in  the  mighty  range  which  was 
called  Broomsedge  Cove,  but  the  characteristic  topography 
of  the  locality  had  given  way,  and  the  torrent  that,  long 
and  sinuous,  was  a  feature  of  the  broader  spaces,  lay  here  in 
a  chasm-like  valley  and  wore  the  semblance  of  a  lakelet  in 
the  abyss  below,  so  completely  did  jutting  spurs  of  the 
mountain  conceal  its  further  vagrant  course.  It  was  a  wild 
spot,  with  its  rocky  bit  of  pasture,  its  "  gyarden,"  its  slant 
ing  fields.  Above  the  little  log  cabin  the  great,  wooded, 
gray,  craggy  steeps  towered  immutably  ;  below,  the  abrupt 
declivity  slanted  to  the  clifty  banks  of  the  simulated  lake  in 
the  gorge.  In  certain  states  of  the  atmosphere,  one  stand 
ing  in  the  weed-grown  garden  might  think  to  put  forth  a 
hand  and  touch  that  purple-bronze  mountain  opposite. 
And  again  the  neighboring  heights  sought  a  sophistry  of 


162   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

distance,  and  were  blue  and  vague,  and  shimmered  elusive 
through  a  fluctuating  haze.  The  water  in  the  chasm  had 
too  its  variant  guise ;  at  times  it  was  a  burnished  yellow 
with  the  emblazonment  of  the  sun,  or  beneath  a  dull  sky  it 
glittered  with  a  steely  lustre,  like  some  keen  blade  that, 
finely  tempered,  can  be  bent  and  writhen  into  an  unwonted 
sinuosity  ;  under  a  lunar  spell  it  trembled  and  shoaled  with 
violet  tints,  and  glancing  pearly  shafts,  and  anon  a  silver 
gleam.  On  dark  nights  the  stars  registered  one  by  one 
in  these  lucent  currents,  sequestered  by  the  forest  and  the 
rocks,  and  held  in  the  deep,  deep  heart  of  the  mountain. 

Jepson  felt  a  sudden  poignant  pang  when  first  he  caught 
sight  of  the  crystal  depths,  of  the  little  gray  cabin,  of  the 
weed-grown  wastes  about  it,  and  of  the  mountains  opposite 
and  those  that  clustered  round.  Ah,  what  does  an  old  home 
house  !  Such  troops  of  memories,  gay  and  grave ;  such 
palpable  fancies  arrayed  in  the  guise  of  those  that  once  it 
knew,  endowed  with  voices  that  speak  no  more,  —  morn 
ing,  noon,  and  night,  these  tenants  flit  in  and  out  of  its  por 
tals  and  busy  themselves  as  of  yore,  despite  whomsoever  it 
shelters  now,  and  find  no  lack  of  space.  Hospitable  roof- 
tree  !  He  could  not  enter  at  first ;  he  did  not  even  have 
the  heart  to  meditate  on  the  policy  of  its  desertion  and  of 
his  return.  He  unsaddled  his  mare,  arid  watched  the  cattle 
take  their  way  to  the  old  pasture  and  into  the  tumbling 
shanty  of  a  barn,  noting  indications  of  their  dumb  recogni 
tion  of  the  locality.  He  wondered  if  they  were  aware  of 
the  change,  and  how  in  their  dull  and  half-developed  reason 
ing  processes  they  accounted  for  it.  Old  griefs,  seared  over 
by  time  and  distance,  began  to  ache  again  in  conscious  be 
reavement.  It  smote  him  like  a  blow  in  the  face  to  note 
the  weed-grown  spaces  of  the  garden,  —  how  bravely  the 
prince's-feathers  flaunted,  how  the  tiger-lilies  flared  !  All 
of  the  utilitarian  growths  had  succumbed ;  there  might  be 
"  volunteer  potatoes,"  perchance,  under  the  fennel,  and  the 
broad-leafed  mullein,  and  the  long  tangled  crab-grass,  but 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       163 

naught  showed  of  the  old-time  grace  and  plenty  but  the 
flowers  that  his  mother  had  planted,  still  keeping  tryst  with 
the  seasons  as  of  yore. 

"  How  she  did  love  enny thing  ez  hed  a  strong  color  onto 
it !  "  he  thought  wistfully,  remembering  this  primitive  half- 
realized  relish  of  beauty  of  contour  and  of  tint,  and  watch 
ing  a  row  of  tall  hollyhocks,  all  their  straight,  shaft-like 
stalks  studded  with  blossoms  as  they  waved  back  and  forth 
in  the  wind,  by  the  doorstep,  where  she  used  to  sit  and  watch 
them,  while  she  listened  to  the  deep,  musical  flow  of  the 
stream  in  the  abyss  below,  or  the  blare  of  the  wind  in  the 
pines,  or  the  heart-felt  lay  of  a  bird  singing  from  the  or 
chard  bough.  "  Waal,  waal,"  he  sighed  as  he  lay  at  length 
amongst  the  clover,  his  hat  upon  the  ground  and  his  hands 
clasped  under  his  head,  gazing  at  the  little  gray  cabin,  "  she 
hev  got  a  better  house  'n  that  one  now,  —  a  house  not  made 
with  hands." 

For  all  his  imagination  he  could  not  see  it,  and  so  he 
sighed  again. 

It  was  nearing  noonday  ;  the  scent  of  the  clover  was  dry 
and  warm  ;  a  bee  went  droning  by ;  the  shadows  of  a  few 
scrubby  fruit  trees,  by  courtesy  an  orchard,  had  almost  col 
lapsed  about  the  roots,  far  different  from  their  long,  slant 
ing  matutinal  habit.  Autumn  was  on  the  way,  although  its 
signs  were  scant.  On  the  great  slope  behind  the  house  a 
single  sour-wood  tree  on  a  bold  crag  flaunted,  a  deep,  rich 
crimson  color ;  it  contrasted  sharply  with  its  own  white  tas 
sels,  and  with  the  gray  of  the  rugged  rock,  with  the  green 
of  the  pines  hard  by,  with  the  delicate,  indefinable  blue  of 
that  slow  up-wreathing  smoke. 

Smoke  ?  Whence  should  it  come  ?  He  lifted  himself 
upon  his  elbow  and  stared,  his  eyes  startled  and  intent,  as 
if  he  scarcely  believed  their  testimony.  For  this  vague  and 
vagrant  tissue  was  curling  up  from  the  old  stick-and-clay 
chimney  of  the  deserted  house. 

He  did  not  move.     He   lay  watching  this  illusion,  as  it 


164       THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE. 

were,  this  guise  of  former  days,  wondering  that  the  little 
cabin,  gray  and  aged  and  trembling  on  the  verge  of  dissolu 
tion,  should  lend  itself  to  this  fraud  of  vision,  spuriously 
advertising  itself  a  habitation,  when  he  recalled  how  gaunt 
and  bare  it  was  within  ;  how  dark  were  the  corners,  where 
the  spiders  wove  their  time-thickened  webs  ;  how  dilapidated 
a  rift  was  in  the  flooring,  where  a  puncheon  had  rotted  and 
fallen  through.  Ah,  looking  at  the  graves  in  the  little  for 
lorn  burying-plot  among  the  crags,  high  on  the  slope  in  a 
square  inclosure  of  gray  palings,  and  remembering  those 
who  had  quitted  the  cabin  and  the  humble  home  ways  for 
ever,  to  lie  out  there  in  the  silence  of  the  mountains,  —  with 
the  rain,  and  the  mist,  and  the  wind,  and  the  snow  to  come 
and  to  go  unheeded,  while  they  waited  the  sound  of  the 
promised  trump,  which  even  the  dull  ear  of  death  shall  heed, 
—  he  felt  how  well  it  behooved  that  hearth-stone  to  be 
dark,  and  silent,  and  solitary ;  how  strange  a  freak  it  was 
that  this  vaporous  attestation  of  warmth  and  glow  should 
deceive  his  senses. 

The  smoke  bent  before  the  wind  ;  it  wafted  toward  him. 

He  rose  suddenly,  with  a  changed  face. 

"  Somebody  air  in  thar,"  he  said,  with  mustering  indigna 
tion  ;  "  they  hev  got  a  fire,  an'  they  air  a-burnin'  of  green 
wood." 

The  smell  of  the  smoke  from  the  green  wood,  with  the 
pungent,  aromatic  suggestions  of  its  sap,  was  still  stronger 
as  he  stood  by  the  door.  He  hesitated  for  a  moment  ;  then 
with  a  muttered  "  I  hev  got  manners,  ef  ye  ain't,"  the  owner 
of  the  house  knocked,  rousing  such  a  sound  in  the  cavern 
ous  stillness  that  his  heart  gave  a  great  throb  as  he  heard. 
Precipitate  feet  seemed  to  hastily  plod  to  the  door,  failing 
somehow  when  reaching  it,  and  waiting  in  silence,  while 
fainter  footfalls  followed  and  paused  also.  It  was  only 
when  he  knocked  once  more  that  he  realized  that  this  was 
but  the  echo  of  his  summons  on  the  frail  battens.  There 
seemed  no  one  inside,  but  as  he  tried  the  latch  he  dis- 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       165 

covered,  to  his  infinite  surprise,  that  the  door  was  barred 
within. 

"  A  body  would  'low  fur  sartain  ez  thar  war  folks  inside," 
he  said  in  doubt. 

His  eyes,  with  a  certain  freedom  characteristic  of  the 
proprietary  glance,  turned  with  a  canvassing  attention  now  to 
the  walls  and  chimney,  and  again  to  the  closed  batten  shut 
ter.  The  hollyhocks  that  his  mother  had  planted  —  how 
they  had  grown  !  —  rapped  against  it  with  peremptory  itera 
tion,  as  if  insistently  summoning  her  forth  to  see  how  they 
throve  and  rewarded  her  early  care. 

"  Jes'  ez  ye  say  !  "  he  remarked  loudly,  for  the  benefit  of 
the  supposed  occupants.  "  Ef  ye  don't  let  me  in,  I  '11  let 
myself  in." 

Still  there  was  no  response  save  the  striking  back  of  the 
tones  of  his  voice  from  the  walls,  seeming  intrusive  and 
strident  in  the  utter  silence. 

He  began  to  feel  as  if  he  wrere  dreaming.  He  looked 
over  his  shoulder  to  see  the  scattered  kine  in  the  clover ; 
his  claybank  mare  standing  unsaddled  by  the  old  rail  fence, 
her  bronze  flanks  glistening  in  the  sun,  her  black  mane  toss 
ing  as  she  thrust  her  head  over  the  high  topmost  rail,  gaz 
ing  with  full,  lustrous  eyes  down  the  slope,  and  snuffing 
with  satisfaction  the  fresh  breeze.  He  was  awake,  —  very 
wide  awake  indeed,  one  might  have  thought,  to  see  him  take 
his  pistol  from  the  holster  of  the  saddle  on  the  ground  and 
slip  it  into  the  long  leg  of  his  boot ;  for  his  faith  in  the  effi 
cacy  of  a  "  shootin'-iron  "  was  hardly  less  pronounced  than 
his  faith  in  the  efficacy  of  prayer.  He  walked  in  with  a 
gingerly  step  amongst  the  tall,  slim  rods  of  the  hollyhocks. 
"  I  hev  ter  be  powerful  particular  'bout  tromplin'  these  hyar 
high  weeds  ez  mani  sets  sech  store  by,"  he  said,  repeating 
an  old  formula,  familiar  to  him  of  yore,  and  distinguishing 
in  the  words,  only  after  they  were  spoken,  the  sarcasm  of 
the  present  and  the  past.  Even  in  that  urgent  moment  of 
action  and  of  caution  he  sought  to  reflect  that  for  her 


166   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

flowered  the  unfading  splendors  of  the  gardens  of  heaven, 
and  he  had  a  sudden  close  realization  of  the  solace  she  must 
have  found  in  that  bloomful  Paradise.  A  vague  vision  of 
vast  multiplied  fields  of  the  Chilhowee  lily  was  before  his 
eyes  :  of  these  white  ethereal  glories  were  the  heavenly  bor 
ders,  he  knew.  He  paused  as  he  stood ;  the  white  holly 
hocks,  with  their  garnet  centres,  touched  his  cheek.  He 
laid  his  hand  on  the  shutter,  breast-high  from  the  ground. 
One  sudden  violent  wrench,  and  it  swung  open.  The  next 
instant,  with  the  supple  agility  of  a  mountain  panther,  he 
sprang  through  the  narrow  aperture,  and  landed  on  his  feet 
in  the  middle  of  the  square,  low-ceiled  room.  Empty,  — 
quite  empty.  He  stood  amidst  the  clustering  shadows, 
and  gazed  about  with  a  dilated,  excited  eye.  A  square  of 
yellow  sunlight  lay  on  the  floor  beneath  the  window,  and  in 
the  slanting  rays  the  motes  were  dancing.  A  new  puncheon 
had  replaced  the  rift  in  the  floor ;  in  the  chimney-place  were 
heaps  of  ashes,  and  amidst  them  red  coals  smouldered. 
The  fire  had  been  providently  covered  to  last,  but  the  task 
had  not  been  well  done,  or  the  draught  was  stronger  than 
usual,  the  wind  being  favorable ;  for  a  remnant  of  the 
green-wood  log  had  begun  to  burn  afresh,  although  only  a 
timorous  blaze  now  and  then  showed  itself,  flickering  out  in 
the  steady  column  of  smoke  slowly  tending  up  the  chimney. 
There  were  pipes  on  the  shelf  that  served  as  mantel,  a  rough 
pallet  in  the  corner,  and  a  few  rude  cooking  utensils  on  a 
bench.  As  he  looked  about  in  increasing  surprise,  he  noted 
a  variety  of  fragments  of  rock,  systematically  ranged  on  the 
floor  beside  the  walls.  A  strong  spade  and  a  pickaxe  with 
its  point  broken  off  stood  in  the  corner.  With  a  mind  void 
of  even  a  speculation,  he  investigated  the  shed-room  ;  then 
ascended  to  the  roof-room,  \vhere  the  window  by  the  chim 
ney  was  open  to  the  air.  It  looked  out  above  the  low 
branches  of  the  orchard,  where  the  sunshine  and  the 
shadows  still  alternated  in  the  old  vogue  known  amongst 
the  leaves  since  light  first  dawned  upon  the  world.  It 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       167 

showed,  too,  the  great  dark  mountains  hard  by,  with  the 
deeper  shades  amongst  them  that  betokened  ravine  and 
chasm  below  the  level  of  his  eye  ;  and  there  was  a  range 
afar  off,  appearing  above  their  massive  summits,  faintly 
blue,  known  by  sight  only,  as  it  were,  for  its  name  was  un 
familiar,  and  its  relative  position  to  the  other  steeps  was 
such  that  it  could  be  seen  only  from  the  window  of  his  old 
room.  A  dead  tree,  close  at  hand,  denuded  of  leaves  and 
bark,  tall  and  blanched  to  a  silver  tint,  showed  its  dendritic 
symmetry  in  pallid  glistening  lines  against  the  soft  blue  of 
those  far  slopes,  and  the  sense  of  distance  between  the  two, 
the  leagues  of  sunshine,  was  immeasurable.  The  sight  of 
the  mountain,  so  long  unseen,  with  the  overpowering  recol 
lection  of  the  past,  had  an  indescribable  effect  upon  him. 
His  face  was  wistful,  his  nerves  grew  tense,  his  hand  trem 
bled  as  he  leaned  upon  its  palm  on  the  window-sill. 
Another  man,  feeling  thus,  would  have  wished  that  he  had 
not  come,  and  would  have  upbraided  himself,  perchance, 
that  he  had  been  so  ill  content,  placed  as  he  was  of  late. 
Jepson  rarely,  indeed,  questioned  the  wisdom  and  the  policy 
of  his  own  decrees.  He  turned  himself  about  with  a  long- 
drawn  sigh,  quivering,  it  seemed,  through  the  very  flesh  of 
his  heart  that  ached  physically,  tramped  heavily  down  the 
stairs,  and  without  a  moment's  hesitation  addressed  himself 
to  removing  the  stranger's  effects  ;  piling  them  all  in  a  heap 
outside  of  the  boundary  fence,  where  the  owner  might  come 
and  take  them  or  leave  them,  as  he  saw  fit. 

"  Ef  he  bed  kem  an'  axed  me,  whoever  he  be,  he  'd  hev 
been  welcome  ter  bide  ez  long  ez  he  wanted  ter,"  he  ob 
served,  the  sentiment  of  the  proprietor  strong  within  him 
and  affronted  by  this  lack  of  formality.  "I  hain't  been 
outer  reach  noways  ez  I  knows  on.  An'  ef  my  kin  be 
dead,  /  ain't."- 

As  he  proceeded  to  put  his  own  household  effects  into 
that  perfunctory  and  curious  disarray  which  the  masculine 
mind  accounts  order,  he  glanced  out  of  the  window  now 


168       THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOM  SEDGE   COVE. 

and  again,  thinking  to  see  the  evicted  tenant  returning  to 
find  his  household  gods  thus  upset,  and  heaped  together  and 
cast  out. 

So  bent  was  he  upon  this  that  after  his  expeditious  set 
tlement  of  his  household  affairs  he  seated  himself  on  the 
step  of  the  little  porch,  and  smoked,  as  he  leaned,  with  his 
hands  behind  his  head,  against  the  post,  and  watched  the 
meagre  treasure  with  intent  eyes.  He  did  not  recognize  his 
resolution  in  any  sense  as  softening,  but  when  the  unknown 
intruder  should  come  back,  and  thus  learn  this  pointed  les 
son  of  the  absolute  rights  of  ownership,  he  held  in  contem 
plation  the  return  of  the  cast-out  gear  to  the  house,  and  an 
invitation  to  abide  for  a  time. 

As  he  sat  there  the  river  sang,  —  sang  aloud  to  the  listen 
ing,  silent  mountains,  an  archaic  lay,  so  full  of  a  sentiment 
of  a  vital  individuality,  an  undying  spirit,  that  it  must  have 
been  voiced  by  some  finer  essences  than  are  known  to  our 
dull  modern  density.  He  could  hear  the  woods  declaiming 
in  vibrant  periods,  although  he  could  translate  none  of  these 
dryadic  tones  that  came  from  the  trees.  The  bees  droned 
around  his  mother's  flowers  ;  a  butterfly,  more  splendidly 
caparisoned  than  any  blossom,  dandered  about  the  old  neg 
lected  garden  and  took  to  wing.  And  as  he  watched, 
naught  came  down  the  path  but  the  reddening  sunlight,  loi 
tering  along  to  its  home  in  the  west. 


X. 

IT  was  soon  bruited  abroad  that  Jepson  had  come  back 
to  Broomsedge  Cove  to  live,  and  to  those  who  declined  to 
give  credence  to  this  new  instance  of  his  boldness  —  having 
entertained  the  opinion  that  he  would  skulk  indefinitely 
amongst  the  hidden  nooks  of  the  mountains,  continuing  a 
reproach  to  the  denizens  of  the  Settlement  for  their  failure 
to  detain  him  —  conclusive  evidence  was  promptly  furnished 
by  his  reappearance  in  his  old  haunts.  No  one  sought  to 
compensate  now  for  the  previous  dereliction  of  the  commu 
nity,  and  he  was  proof  against  the  cold  shoulder  and  the 
look  askance,  so  completely  did  the  influence  of  his  own  in 
dividuality  dwarf  the  opinion  of  the  disaffected.  A  new 
view  of  the  accident  began  to  be  entertained,  and  there  were 
not  a  few  disparaging  comments,  especially  among  the  ad 
verse  political  faction,  on  Eli  Strobe's  methods  in  office,  and 
his  own  responsibility  for  the  disaster  which  had  befallen 
him.  Had  Jepson  been  a  philosopher  or  a  student  of  human 
nature,  he  might  have  found  material  for  interesting  analy 
sis  in  the  conduct  of  his  ancient  cronies  during  his  absence 
as  set  forth  in  sundry  confidences  of  what  had  been  said, 
and  thought,  and  threatened,  and  thus  have  sown  the  seeds 
of  permanent  misanthropy.  He  evidently  gave  the  gossip 
little  heed  ;  he  flouted  its  infinitesimal  consequence.  He 
was  so  validly  indifferent,  so  serenely  strong  in  the  courage 
of  his  convictions,  so  arrogant  in  his  self-esteem,  that  he 
belittled  the  others  without  even  an  intention  of  reducing 
their  pride.  Only  once  did  the  barbed  shaft  fail  to  glance 
off  futile.  "  War  them  Pa'son  Donnard's  words  ? "  he 
asked,  a  frown  upon  his  face,  as  he  stood  in  the  door  of  the 


170   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

forge  and  leaned  against  the  frame,  while  a  coterie  of  the 
gossips  sat  half  within  and  half  without.  His  eyes  were 
dark  and  full  of  smouldering  fire  ;  his  broad  hat  was  pushed 
back  from  his  brow,  which  had  flushed  to  the  roots  of  his 
hair.  "  Did  he  'low  ez  how  I  hed  Emitted  murder  ?  War 
them  his  words  ?  " 

"  Jube  say  so,"  replied  Clem  Sanders.  He  was  not  con 
sciously  treacherous  to  his  friend,  but  he  possessed  an  un 
guarded  tongue,  and  perhaps  it  was  the  hidden  workings  of 
justice  that  he  should  betray  Jube's  confidences,  as  Jube 
had  failed  to  keep  his  secret. 

Jepson  remained  silent  a  moment  after  the  reiteration  of 
the  assertion.  Then  his  whole  aspect  suddenly  cleared. 

"  The  Lord  '11  jedge  'twixt  him  an'  me.  I  ain't  a-keerin' 
so  long  ez  the  Lord  be  on  my  side.  I  fear  no  man,  an'  the 
word  o'  none  !  " 

It  was  doubtless  because  of  his  mental  breadth  and  fresh 
ness,  his  physical  vigor  and  the  elasticity  appertaining  to 
health,  that  his  hope  was  so  strong,  and  his  courage  so 
sound,  and  his  nerves  so  accurately  poised.  But  he  believed 
this  the  result  of  piety,  and  he  was  not  often  gainsaid. 

"  Oh,  shet  up,"  Bassett  urged  on  this  occasion,  being  a 
prosaic  man  of  this  world,  with  a  discerning  eye  for  the 
foibles  of  others,  and  appreciating  in  some  sort  vast  rifts 
between  these  spiritual  arrogations  and  actual  possessions. 
"  Ye  talk  like  ez  ef  ye  an'  the  Lord  war  partners  !  " 

"  Ef  I  hed  it  all  ter  do  over  agin,  I  reckon  I  would  n't 
ride  that  race,"  pursued  the  moralist  speculatively,  "  knowin' 
what  I  know  now,  an'  how  it  all  turned  out,  kase  I  never 
wanted  ter  hurt  nobody,  much  less  Eli  Strobe.  But  ef  I 
knowed  no  more  'n  I  done  then,  I  'd  ride  it  agin.  Tell  me 
it 's  agin  the  law  fur  me  an'  Jube  ter  race  our  critters  'long 
the  road,  an'  yit  it  ain't  agin  the  law  ter  race  yer  critters 
on  a  reg'lar  race-track,  kase  it  puts  suthin'  inter  the  State's 
pocket !  Thar  ain't  no  jestice  in  that  lawr  an'  I  won't 
abide  by  it.  Naw,  folkses,  wrong  is  wrong  every whar,  an' 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       171 

money  can't  make  it  right.  No  use  payin'  the  State  fur  a 
license  ter  do  wrong." 

There  were  few  vaticinations  now  concerning  the  result 
of  the  disaster ;  the  doctor  had  come  and  had  shaken  his 
head,  the  precise  significance  of  which  was  variously  inter 
preted,  the  majesty  and  solemnity  of  the  gesture  alone  be 
ing  open  to  no  sort  of  question.  The  prophets  imitated  his 
caution,  and  reserved  their  opinion.  Eli  mought  die,  they 
said,  and  then  agin  he  mought  n't.  And  thus  they  were 
prepared  for  whatever  might  betide.  The  doctor  had  added 
to  the  ostensible  purpose  of  his  existence  the  fact  of  fur 
nishing  a  new  theme  to  the  idle  gossips  who  sat  upon  the 
fences,  and  hung  about  the  store  and  the  forge  ;  he,  and  his 
big  spectacles,  and  his  bald  head,  and  his  old-fashioned 
buggy  —  a  new  and  a  wonderful  vehicle  in  the  estimation  of 
Broomsedge  —  were  canvassed  afresh,  and  those  who  were 
fortunate  enough  to  have  had  some  necessity  for  his  services 
in  past  times,  then  considered  unfortunate  enough,  renewed 
their  experiences  in  their  account  of  the  methods  of  his  prac 
tice,  the  repetition  of  hoarded  bits  of  his  conversation,  and 
the  comparison  of  views  as  to  his  professional  capacity.  By 
the  majority  he  was  held  to  be  u  ekal  ter  raisin'  the  dead," 
but  Mrs.  Strobe  did  not  coincide  in  that  flattering  opinion. 

"  Marcelly,"  said  the  sharp  little  dame.  u  that  thar  old 
bald-headed  buzzard,  —  an'  he  looks  percisely  like  one  in 
them  slick  black  store-clothes,  —  he  knows  jes'  ez  much 
'bout  doctorin'  ez  AYatch  thar,  ef  that." 

The  k'  frequent  visitor's "  dog  acknowledged  the  men 
tion  of  his  name  by  two  or  three  taps  with  his  tail  on  the 
floor,  as  he  sat  in  the  uninclosed  passage  between  the  twa 
rooms  beside  Marcella.  who  had  dropped  down  on  a  rickety 
bench  that  stood  against  the  wall.  The  girl  turned  upward 
her  pale,  anxious  face,  with  a  dumb  despair  in  her  eyes. 
She  had  hung  on  the  physician's  words,  as  if  there  were 
healing  in  the  very  sound.  Mrs  Strobe  held  her  tiny  figure 
very  erect ;  there  was  color  in  her  cheeks,  and  her  eyes 


172   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

flashed.  In  fact,  the  professional  call  had  been  in  some 
sort  distinguished  as  a  collision  between  two  eminent  medi 
cal  authorities. 

"  I  hev  been  considered  ekal  to  doctorin'  Eli  an'  ye 
chil'n',"  declared  Mrs.  Strobe,  with  a  manner  as  attestive 
as  if  she  were  reading  a  diploma,  "  an'  he  tells  me  I  need  n't 
continue  the  yerb  teas  ez  I  hev  been  brewin' ;  they  air  *  use 
less,'  an'  whatever  air  '  useless  '  air  mo'  or  less  '  injurious/ 
How  does  he  know  ?  "she  demanded,  with  sphinxine  triumph ; 
"  he  dunno  what  I  put  inter  'em.  Me  !  ez  hev  fetched  all  ye 
folks  through  all  sort'n  mis'ries  an'  measles  with  my  yerb- 
bag  !  An'  he  gimme  these  hyar  leetle  papers  with  powders  in 
'em,  —  nuthin'  in  the  world  but  sand,  I  '11  be  bound,  —  an'  this 
hyar  bottle,  —  '  lotiuin,'  he  called  it ;  smells  loud  enough  ter 
knock  a  calf  down  !  An'  that 's  all  it 's  good  fur,  ter  de 
range  yer  nose  teetotally,  till  ye  can't  smell  no  mo'  till  king 
dom  come.  An'  '  stop  them  yerb  teas,  — no  good  ; '  an'  he 
don't  know  what 's  in  'em  !  An'  let  Eli  sleep,  when  the 
mo'  he  sleeps  the  foolisher  he  talks  whenst  he  wakes  up. 
Shucks  !  I  be  goin'  ter  doctor  Eli  Strobe  myself  !  I  hev  tuk 
him  along  through  a  many  a  tight  fix." 

The  girl  sighed  with  relief  and  renewing  hope,  and 
pushed  back  the  tangled  heavy  curling  hair  from  her  brow. 

"  Don't  ye  be  oneasy,  chile,"  said  the  sturdy  little  dame. 
"  I  'lowed  ter  Teck  Jepson  jes'  yestiddy,  I  say,  '  Eli  Strobe  's 
my  son.  But  what  through  his  bein'  the  dad  o'  Marcelly 
an'  Is'bel,  an'  the  constable  o'  Brumsaidge,  an'  the  patient 
o'  the  doctor,  a  body  mought  see  they  did  n't  'low  me  ter 
hev  much  sheer  in  him.  But  I  be  his  mother,  an'  ef  I  hev 
got  enny  rights  1  reckon  it  air  ter  dose  him  <ter  my  own 
taste.'  An'  Teck  say,  '  Ef  I  war  sick,  Mis'  Strobe,  I  'd  a 
sight  ruther  hev  you-uns  ter  look  arter  me  'n  enny  doctor- 
man  I  ever  see.'  Teck  spoke  right  up." 

"  Teck  Jepson !  "  cried  the  girl,  knitting  her  straight 
black  eyebrows,  "  hev  he  hed  the  insurance  ter  kem  hyar 
agin  ?  " 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       173 

"  Ye  air  a  idjit,  Marcelly ;  'course  he  kem  ter  inquire 
arter  Eli.  He  ain't  studyin'  'bout  you-uns ;  but  that 's  jes' 
like  a  gal,  —  vainglorious  till  she  'lows  the  man  air  a-con- 
trivin'  an'  thinkin'  'bout'n  her  all  the  time.  Shucks,  chile  ; 
wait  till  ye  git  ez  old  ez  I  be,  an'  ye  '11  find  out  it  air  the 
wimmin  ez  hev  ter  do  the  thinkin'  an'  contrivin'  ter  please 
the  men,  an'  then  can't  keep  up  with  'em  more  'n  half  the 
time." 

"  I  "don't  want  ter  please  'em,"  said  Marcella,  with  a 
curve  of  her  delicate  lips,  and  lifting  her  head  to  its  habit 
ual  airy  pose. 

"  Kase  ye  feel  so  mighty  sure  ye  air  goin*  ter  'thout 
tryin',"  retorted  the  discerning  grandmother.  "  Let  some 
body  tell  ye  now  ez  ye  air  downright  ugly,  an'  ef  they 
could  make  ye  b'lieve  it,  ye  'd  a  sight  ruther  hear  ye  lied 
los'  yer  soul's  salvation  !  " 

She  began  to  turn  anew  the  papers  in  her  hand.  "  '  Quit 
them  yerb  teas,'  "  she  quoted  with  a  cantankerous  accent,  as 
she  fumbled  with  the  tiny  wrappers,  mimicking  the  physi 
cian's  ill-judged  scorn.  She  was  letting  the  powders  fly  out 
in  the  wind.  "  *  Gin  these  powders,  one  every  hour.'  He 
lef '  his  watch,  sir,  so  ez  ter  tell  the  time  o'  day ;  an'  it  air 
in  yander  now,  a-goin'  on  like  suthin'  live.  '  Gin  him  these 
powders,'  —  I  ?11  gin  him  some  yerb  tea,  an'  tell  the  doctor 
the  powders  done  him  a  power  o'  good,  when  he  kerns  agin. 
Ye  Watch,"  she  called  out  to  the  dog,  who  when  a  few 
flakes  of  the  medicine  fell  upon  the  floor  sprang  up  with  an 
expectant  hunger  and  a  glistening  greedy  eye,  as  if  he  had 
not  had  a  morsel  of  food  for  a  week,  "  ef  ye  lap  that  up,  it  '11 
tangle  yer  liver  an'  gizzard  up  so  ye  '11  never  git  'em  straight 
agin."  Completing  the  destruction  of  the  powders,  she 
shook  the  bottle,  looking  at  it  intently.  u  Mought  be  some 
use."  The  seeming  admission  was  as  to  the  value  of  the 
glass  vial,  by  no  means  the  "  lotium." 

That  afternoon  she  demonstrated  her  incontestable  claim, 
however,  to  some  knowledge  of  hygiene  by  a  mandate  that 


174       THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE. 

Marcella,  and  not  Isabel,  should  go  after  the  cows ;  and  as 
the  girl  reluctantly  left  the  invalid's  bedside,  Mrs.  Strobe 
followed  her  out  with  axioms  and  boasts,  for  she  had  grown 
exceedingly  prideful  and  exalted  anew  in  her  own  opinion 
since  she  had  observed  the  methods  of  the  physician.  "  Ye 
oughter  git  some  air  an'  light,  Marcelly  ;  ye  look  like  the 
las'  o'  pea-time,  —  an'  old  !  some  similar  ter  Noah's  grand 
mother,  ef  the  good  'oman  hed  lasted  this  long.  Ef  ye 
keep  on  lookin'  like  that,  even  Clem  Sanders  won't  admire 
ye  ;  an'  I  think  he  air  the  kind  o'  boy  ez  hev  got  mighty 
little  'scrimination  in  gal-folks,  —  all  of  'em  pritty  ter 
Clem,  I  '11  be  bound.  Ye  go  out  an'  git  them  cows  hyar.  I 
don't  want  Is'bel  ter  grow  no  taller  till  she  makes  out  ter  git 
a  little  wider.  She  looks  now  like  she  war  a-travelin'  on 
stilts,  bein'  so  long-legged.  Naw,  Is'bel  hed  better  set  still, 
an'  try  ter  fatten.  Our  folks  war  always  knowed  ter  be  a 
set  o'  well-favored  wimmin,  an'  I  don't  want  ye  an'  Is'bel 
ter  gin  the  lie  ter  that  report.  Ez  ter  the  men  o'  the  fam- 
bly,  they  war  ugly  enough  ter  skeer  the  bars  in  the  woods  ; 
but,  honey,  they  never  knowed  it,  an'  ez  they  war  so  pow 
erful  pleased  with  thar  own  beauty,  sech  ez  they  hed,  it 
helped  ter  keep  'em  satisfied,  leastwise  ez  satisfied  ez  they 
war  able  ter  be.  Ye  go  'long,  an'  see  ef  ye  can't  find  yer 
own  looks  somewhar  out  yander  in  the  wind  an'  'rnongst 
the  rocks.  I  '11  be  bound  ye  '11  kem  up  with  'em  tangled  in 
the  briers." 

If  it  were  the  radiance  of  the  splendid  and  perfect  day 
that  was  Marcella's  inalienable  possession,  the  tint  of  the 
wild  rose  for  her  lips  and  her  infrequent  flush,  the  lucent 
shining  of  deep  pure  waters  reproduced  in  her  eyes,  she 
seemed  to  have  renewed  all  these  invaluable  gifts  when  she 
chanced  to  cross  the  little  foot-bridge  over  the  torrent  that 
ran  through  Broomsedge  Cove.  The  cows  that  she  drove 
were  fording  the  stream,  standing  flank-deep  in  the  swirling 
current ;  the  waters  were  a  dark  brownish-green  tint,  of  a 
crystalline  clearness,  and  swift  and  songful ;  the  dense  laurel 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOM  SEDGE   COVE.       175 

leaned  over  the  banks ;  shadowy  pines  rose  high  above ; 
here  and  there  a  cliff  towered,  and  a  great  fir  stood,  with 
wide-spreading  glooms  in  its  branches,  at  one  end  of  the 
frail,  little  bridge.  Abo^e,  one  could  see  but  a  mere  strip  of 
the  blue  sky ;  farther  up  the  stream,  as  the  banks  curved, 
the  tumultuous  rapids  caught  a  sunbeam  on  their  flashing- 
foam,  and  a  barren  old  crag  on  the  opposite  bank  wore  a 
tender  roseate  flush  to  see  the  sun  set.  But  here  in  these 
shady  precincts  was  neither  beam  nor  pink  radiance ;  the 
red  cardinal  flower  blooming  by  the  water's  edge  had  but  a 
sombre  splendor,  the  ripples  and  the  wide  circles  that  the 
movement  of  the  kine  sent  to  the  margin  were  dark  lus 
trous  lines,  and  the  foam  dashing  over  the  half -submerged 
brown  rocks  wore  a  more  absolute  and  pallid  white  for  the 
dull  green  and  neutral  tints  of  its  vicinage. 

The  girl  had  been  leaning  her  crossed  arms  upon  the 
hand-rail  of  the  bridge,  and  looking  absently  down  at  the 
turmoils  of  the  current.  She  could  see  her  own  image  in 
the  clearer  space,  her  sunbonnet  falling  upon  the  shoulders 
of  her  blue  dress,  her  curling  brown  hair  floating  free  ;  her 
fair  face,  with  its  brilliant  eyes  and  definite  dark  brows  and 
grave  lips,  seemed  all  the  more  distinct,  somehow,  for  the 
red  flare  of  a  kerchief  knotted  about  her  throat,  the  ends 
hanging  down  almost  to  her  slender  waist.  The  chant  of 
the  river  filled  the  air  ;  the  wind  was  sonorously  astir  in  the 
trees  ;  now  and  again  one  of  the  cows,  drinking  no  longer, 
but  standing  still,  enjoying  the  freshness  of  the  dusky  place, 
lowed,  and  the  echoes  responded.  Thus  Marcella  did  not 
hear  an  approach ;  she  saw  the  reflection  as  Teck  Jepson 
came  along  the  little  bridge  where  she  stood,  and  the  tim 
bers  elastically  vibrated  with  each  consecutive  step.  She 
scarcely  credited  the  testimony  of  the  image  in  the  water. 
She  lifted  her  head  with  a  sudden  startled  look,  putting  back 
with  one  hand  her  heavy  hair,  and  staring  frowningly  at 
him.  She  did  not  speak  ;  she  still  leaned  one  arm  upon  the 
hand-rail. 


176   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

"  Howdy,"  Jepson  observed  calmly.      "  How  's  Eli  ?  " 

If  she  could  have  escaped  him  she  would  not  have  deigned 
him  a  word,  but  she  could  not  pass  him  upon  the  narrow 
space  of  the  two  hewn  logs  that  served  as  bridge ;  below 
was  the  deep  water,  and  she  would  not  retreat.  "  I  won't 
take  the  back  track  fur  nobody,"  she  said  to  herself,  with 
her  head  high. 

He  had  evidently  been  hunting ;  his  mare,  with  a  newly 
killed  deer  laid  athwart  the  saddle,  awaited  him  on  the 
bank  ;  he  had  thrown  the  reins  over  a  bough  of  a  cucumber- 
tree.  As  Marcella  glanced  thither,  she  noted  that  the  cones 
en  the  green  branches  were  glowing  red,  and  that  the  coat 
of  the  deer,  whose  antlers  and  ghastly  cut  throat  were  visi 
ble  as  the  creature  lay  on  its  side,  had  already  changed  from 
the  fulvous  tints  of  summer  to  the  duller  gray  of  autumn  ; 
the  season  was  surely  waning.  Her  eyes  came  back  reluc 
tantly  to  Jepson.  He  was  booted  and  spurred  ;  he  carried 
his  rifle ;  his  hunting-knife  was  in  his  broad  leather  belt ; 
he  wore  his  shot-pouch  and  powder-horn  strapped  over  the 
shoulder  of  his  brown  jeans  coat ;  his  broad  wool  hat  was 
pushed  far  back  from  his  face,  and  once  more  she  noticed 
how  calm  and  reposeful  his  expression  was.  Somehow  it 
added  rancor  to  her  anger,  for  she  felt  it  hard  that  he  should 
be  at  ease  while  she  was  so  racked  with  care. 

"  I  dunno  ez  I  hev  enny  call  ter  tell  ye  how  he  be.  Ef 
it  had  n't  been  fur  you-uns,  he  'd  be  powerful  hearty  an' 
well.  Mighty  few  folks  in  the  Cove  ez  survigrous  ez  he  'd 
be,  ef  't  war  n't  fur  you-uns." 

He  looked  reproachfully  at  her.  Then  with  an  effort  to 
mollify  her,  "  Ye  air  mighty  hard  on  me,  Marcelly." 

She  held  her  head  up,  relishing  her  cruelty.  "  Not  half 
ez  hard  ez  ye  desarve,"  she  declared. 

He  sighed  heavily  as  he  looked  at  her,  and  she  smiled, 
with  satire  glancing  in  her  eyes. 

"  I  ain't  half  ez  hard  ez  ye  desarve,  or  ez  I  would  like 
ter  be,"  she  reiterated.  "  I  dunno  how  ter  be  no  harder,  or  I 
would." 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.   177 

"  Marcelly  !  "  he  remonstrated.  "  'T  war  n't  my  fault. 
Ye  'low  I  would  hev  done  sech  a  purpose  ?  Even  s'pose  I 
war  jes'  mean,  look  how  it  hev  turned  out  fur  me.  I  hed 
'lowed,  ef  it  hed  n't  happened,  ez  ye  an'  me  mought  marry 
some  day.  An'  now  ye  can't  abide  me." 

"  I  never  could  !  "  she  retorted. 

He  flushed  with  a  sudden  sense  of  mortification,  but  his 
store  of  patience  was  very  great  in  this  emergency, — he, 
who  could  usually  command  so  little.  "  Ye  did  n't  useter 
show  it  so  plain,"  he  argued. 

"  Why,"  she  protested  with  a  cavalier  air.  "  I  ain't  on- 
dertakin'  ter  drive  off  all  the  folks  ez  kem  constant  to  the 
cabin.  How  'd  I  know  ye  war  n't  kemin'  ter  see  Is'bel,  or  — 
granny  ?  " 

This  mocking  fleer  wounded  him,  —  so  sensitive  he  was 
where  she  was  concerned,  —  and  he  was  reminded  afresh 
of  the  number  of  sturdy  worshipers  at  that  shrine,  and  his 
jealousy  sprang  up  anew.  He  stood  staring  silently  at  her, 
noting  again  how  beautiful  she  was,  canvassing  secretly  the 
claims  of  the  others  ;  but  however  his  hope  might  belittle 
their  chances,  they  all  were  more  fortunate  than  he  in  hav 
ing  at  least  the  toleration  of  the  fair  prize.  She  resented 
that  long,  reflective  gaze,  and  broke  forth  suddenly. 

"  Air  ye  obligated  enny wise  ter  stan'  in  the  middle  o'  this 
narrer  bredge  all  evenin'  ?  "  she  demanded,  with  a  flushing 
cheek  and  a  flashing  eye.  "  An'  why  n't  ye  stay  up  in  the 
mounting  an'  kem  down  no  mo',  ez  I  bid  ye  ?  " 

There  was  something  passing  all  bounds  of  endurance  in 
her  patent  scorn  and  the  intensity  of  her  anger.  He  real 
ized  the  extent  of  her  affliction,  and  his  love,  albeit  quickly 
grown,  was  great.  But  his  pride  was  an  indomitable  es 
sence,  and  it  showed  in  his  manner  as  he  drew  himself 
tensely  erect.  "  I  don't  hold  myself  bound  ter  mind  yer 
bid,"  he  said  slowly.  '*  I  hev  been  in  love  with  ye  ever 
sence  I  fust  set  eyes  on  ye,  but  I  ain't  sech  ez  Samson  or 
some  o'  the  t'others,  ez  war  fairly  owned,  body  an'  soul,  by 


178        THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOM  SEDGE   COVE. 

some  woman  or  other.  I  foller  my  own  will,  an'  it  hev  led 
me  down  ter  my  own  house  in  Brumsaidge  Cove,  an'  I  go 
up  ter  the  mounting  no  mo'.  I  foller  my  own  will,  an'  it 
leads  me  whar  the  voice  o'  the  Sperit  summons." 

His  eyes  dilated  and  his  color  flared  ;  his  serious,  half- 
frowning  gaze  was  fixed  upon  her,  but  he  hardly  saw  her  as 
he  made  this  valiant  declaration  of  independence.  There 
was  dignity  as  well  as  strength  in  his  pose  and  his  manner, 
and  the  temerity  of  his  resolution  to  be  no  slave  to  his  love. 

His  revolt,  if  so  it  might  be  interpreted,  against  the  su 
preme  power  which  she  wielded  overwhelmed  her  in  some 
sort.  She  looked  at  him  with  a  self-forgetfulness,  a  sort  of 
impersonal  interest,  for  a  moment. 

"  Yes,  sir ;  thar  I  mean  ter  live  an'  die,  —  in  Brum 
saidge,"  he  pursued.  "An'  enny  woman  ez  tells  me  ter  go 
thar  or  kem  hyar  —  'thout  it  air  ter  do  some  f avior  — 
m ought  ez  well  save  her  breath.  I  be  man  enough,  I  reckon, 
ter  know  my  mind  an'  do  it,  —  leastwise  I  '11  try." 

Once  more  he  paused.  The  mare  was  straining  at  the 
reins  that  hampered  her  freedom,  and  he  heard  the  rustling 
of  the  bough  to  which  she  was  hitched.  He  gave  a  hasty, 
mechanical  glance  over  his  shoulder  to  make  sure  that  she 
and  the  burden,  the  killed  buck,  were  where  they  should  be. 
The  stirrups,  swinging  back  and  forth,  touched  the  antlers 
once  and  again  with  a  sharp  sound  ;  a  frog  was  croaking  on 
an  oozy  green  log  by  the  bank ;  Jepson's  old  deerhound,  an 
animal  whose  capacity  for  speed  showed  in  every  line  of  its 
supple  body,  had  followed  him  deftly  along  the  bridge  and 
stood  beside  him,  looking  up  with  intelligent  eyes,  and  once 
or  twice  furtively  licking  his  boot.  As  Jepson  turned  back, 
he  saw  Marcella's  face  without  that  expression  of  anger  and 
reproach ;  she  was  for  the  moment  absolved  from  her  inten 
tion  of  hatred.  He  noted  the  lurking  sadness,  the  haunting 
fear,  the  wistfulness  that  is  always  the  sequence  and  attes 
tation  of  some  predominant  emotion.  She  looked  so  tender, 
so  young,  so  grievously  wounded. 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       179 

'*  Oh,  Marcelly,"  he  cried,  "  I  never  meant  ter  harm  Eli ! 
I  would  n't  hev  hurt  him  fur  nuthin'.  I  would  n't  keer  what 
the  law  w^ould  do  ter  me  fur  it,  ef  only  ye  'd  b'lieve  I  never 
done  it  a-purpose.  Ef  only  ye  'd  say  that,  I  'd  go  ter  jail 
fur  the  rest  o'  my  life  rejoicin'." 

The  moment  he  recurred  to  the  suppliant  tone  her  sense 
of  power  returned.  The  implacable,  imperative  look  was 
again  in  her  face,  coming  with  a  rush  of  color,  as  if  the 
blood-red  glow  were  the  inherent  tint  of  pride. 

"  Ye  air  about  ez  fur  from  jail  ez  enny  man  on  this  yearth, 
an'  ye  air  goin'  ter  stay  so,  ef  ye  kin  hev  yer  way.  I  don't 
keer  what  ye  meant  or  did  n't  mean  ter  do.  I  keer  fur 
what  ye  done  !  An'  ef  ye  foller  yer  will  an'  the  voice  o'  the 
Sperit,  ez  ye  'lows  leads  ye,  ye  '11  be  mighty  clar  from  git- 
tin'  punished,  whether  ye  live  in  Brumsaidge  or  the  moun 
ting.  I  don't  keer  whar  ye  live  'n  what  ye  do  now."  She 
had  ceased  to  lean  on  the  hand-rail,  and  her  image  had  van 
ished  from  the  water  ;  she  stood  erect  and  slender  before 
him,  the  red  kerchief  carelessly  knotted  about  her  throat, 
her  bonnet  hanging  on  her  shoulders,  her  long,  half  curling, 
and  thickly  waving  hair  almost  hiding  it.  "  I  'd  be  obleeged 
ter  ye  ef  ye  'd  git  out'n  my  road.  I  don't  wanter  drown 
myself  in  that  water,  an'  it  seems  I  '11  hev  ter  ef  I  try  ter 
pass  ye." 

He  said  no  more  and  slowly  withdrew,  busying  himself 
about  his  saddle-girth.  He  glanced,  wounded  and  reproach 
ful,  at  Marcella  as  she  went  by,  following  the  cows,  but  she 
gave  him  no  word,  and  was  presently  lost  in  the  woods. 

After  she  had  reached  home,  she  saw  him  going  down  the 
road  to  the  Settlement.  "  Bold  ez  brass,"  she  commented, 
looking  at  him  from  the  porch.  "  I  wisht  he  'd  git  arrested, 
somehows." 

She  marveled  as  to  his  mission,  but  it  excited  scant  at 
tention  in  the  Cove,  where  his  frequent  presence  since  his 
return  from  the  mountains  had  become  familiar.  He  took 
his  way  toward  the  store,  which  combined  commercial  and 


180   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDCE  COVE. 

postal  functions,  —  a  little  frame  building  without  a  porch, 
and  with  only  one  room.  In  some  seizure  of  unprecedented 
energy,  the  storekeeper  had  undertaken  to  whitewash  it ; 
his  industry  had  compassed  the  surface  of  its  front,  and 
then  collapsed  finally,  and  thus  it  had  subsequently  stood, 
its  dark,  weather-stained  sides  and  back  in  sharp  contrast 
with  the  white  front  of  the  building.  His  proceedings  had 
been  characteristically  considered  by  the  mountaineers  to  be 
in  fault  in  the  first  instance,  for  the  effort  to  furbish  up  the 
appearance  of  the  store  was  esteemed  a  reprehensible  aping 
of  town  ways  and  views.  No  one  animadverted  upon  his 
indolence  in  failing  to  carry  out  his  design.  A  mountaineer, 
whose  name  is  lost  to  tradition,  one  day  observed  that  the 
white-fronted  building,  as  it  sat  on  the  slope  of  the  hill,  al 
ways  looked  to  him  like  a  white-faced  bull ;  and  thereafter 
the  owner  went  by  the  name  of  "  White-Face  Hobbs."  He 
was  upon  the  doorstep  now,  —  a  long,  lank  fellow,  whose 
lowly  posture  accented  the  extreme  length  of  his  legs ;  and 
as  he  sat  with  his  knees  as  high  as  his  chin,  the  attitude  was 
vaguely  suggestive  of  a  grasshopper.  He  had  a  cadaverous 
face,  the  color  of  parchment,  and  he  entertained  pessimistic 
views  of  the  intentions,  morals,  and  manners  of  all  the  young 
men  in  the  Cove. 

"  A  pack  o'  fresky  cusses  kem  in  hyar  an'  play  thar  jokes 
off,  an'  dust  one  'nother  with  flour,  an'  turn  over  the  sor 
ghum  or  the  sugar,  an'  folks  tell  me  they  war  funnin'.  I  '11 
git  ter  funnin',  fust  thing  they  know  !  I  don't  think  nuthin' 
in  this  world  air  ez  funny  ez  a  big  hickory  stick,  an'  I  kin 
use  it  so  ez  ter  make  me  laugh  mightily,  though  some  folks 
m ought  be  too  sober-sided,  time  I  war  done  with  it." 

On  a  rickety  chair,  tilted  against  the  white-faced  wall, 
sat  a  young  man,  wearing  a  suit  of  cheap  but  spruce  and 
showy  store-clothes.  He  had  a  broad,  freckled  face,  and 
sandy  hair.  He  was  a  visitor  here,  Hobbs  being  his  un 
cle,  and  Jepson's  intention  to  address  him  was  so  evident, 
as  he  came  up  the  slope  leading  his  mare,  which  looked 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       181 

reluctant  and  long-necked,  still  burdened  with  the  deer,  that 
the  storekeeper,  fearing  a  commercial  opportunity  might 
elude  him  while  the  young  men  talked,  struck  in,  forestalling 
Jepson's  remark. 

"  Wanter  sell  yer  meat  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  Take  it,  or  leave  it ;  I  don't  keer,"  said  Jepson.  He 
gave  the  reins  to  the  storekeeper,  who  had  risen,  and  he 
walked  toward  the  young  man,  and  paused  before  him. 

"  Neal,"  he  said,  looking  down  and  putting  one  hand  into 
his  leather  belt,  ki  I  want  ye  ter  arrest  me." 

The  storekeeper  dropped  the  reins,  and  stood  staring 
speechlessly,  while  the  mare  moved  off  a  f»w  steps  and  be 
gan  to  crop  the  grass. 

Neal  Wright,  who  was  the  deputy  sheriff  of  the  county, 
dropped  the  forelegs  of  his  chair  to  the  ground,  and  asked, 
dismayed,  "*  What  hev  ye  done  ?  " 

"  That  thar  raciii'  an'  runnin'  down  Eli  Strobe." 

"Eli  Strobe  ain't  dead." 

"  Naw,"  said  Jepson  in  a  melancholy  tone,  "  but  I  wanter 
be  arrested  now." 

The  deputy  meditated  for  a  moment. 

"  Oh,  g'long,  Teck,"  he  said,  in  official  perplexity,  "  I 
dunno  what  ter  arrest  ye  fur.  'T  war  n't  nuthin'  but  a  acci 
dent." 

"  Racin'  air  unlawful,"  said  Jepson,  moodily,  —  "  a  un 
lawful  act." 

"  Shucks  !  "  retorted  the  officer.  "  Las'  Aveek  I  raced  a 
gray  horse  o'  mine  —  a  good  un  —  with  a  horse  o'  Jedge 
Grimm's,  o'  the  Circuit  Court.  Both  of  us  happened  ter  be 
goin'  out  o'  Colb'ry  same  time.  He  hearn  me  a-clippin' 
behind  him,  an'  he  whipped  up  an'  spurred,  an'  I  whipped 
up  an'  spurred.  Don't  he  know  hossflesh,  though,  an'  don't 
he  love  it !  Oughter  jes'  see  that  bay  travel !  An'  when 
he  war  a-gittin'  away  from  me,  Jedge  Grimm  jes'  turned  his 
big  red  face  round  wunst,  an'  it  war  all  one  wink  an'  grin. 
Me  an'  the  jeclge  air  out  o'  jail  yit." 


182   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

"  Waal,  I  gin  myself  up,"  persisted  Jepson. 

"  Oh,  g'long,  Teck."  The  officer  was  standing  now,  and 
he  gave  his  friend's  shoulder  an  admonitory  push.  "  I  don't 
want  ye.  I  don't  wanter  kerry  ye  all  the  way  ter  Colb'ry 
an'  cut  my  visit  off.  An'  I  don't  b'lieve  I  could  git  ye 
c'mitted  ter  stan'  yer  trial  noways.  The  old  man  "  —  it  was 
the  high  sheriff  thus  antiquated  —  "  air  powerful  partic'lar 
'bout  makin'  false  an'  foolish  arrests,  an'  he  's  responsible 
fur  me."  He  shook  his  head  in  a  manner  that  intimated 
his  sense  of  the  weight  of  this  fact.  "  Folks  can't  git  arrested 
fur  fun.  Naw,  sir,  I  don't  want  ye.  I  '11  kern  arter  ye  mighty 
quick  ef  ennytl^jng  happens  ter  Eli.  Don't  ye  be  'fear'd." 

"  I  want  ter  be  arrested  now,"  reiterated  Jepson.  "  His 
fambly  want  me  arrested." 

The  deputy  looked  puzzled.  "  I  don't  b'lieve  ye,  Teck. 
Ef  they  did,  they  'd  make  a  complaint  agin  ye,  an'  git  out 
a  warrant." 

"  They  air  all  wimmen ;  they  dunno  how."  Then,  ur 
gently,  "  When  ye  go  back  ter  town,  tell  the  '  old  man  '  ez 
the  crim'nal  wanted  ter  be  arrested,  and  the  fambly  wanted 
him  ter  be  jailed,  too,  an'  ye  would  n't." 

"  Teck,  ye  air  out'n  yer  head !  "  exclaimed  Wright. 

"  Go  up  ter  the  house  an'  ax  'em,"  said  the  would-be 
prisoner. 

The  deputy,  thus  summoned  from  the  unofficial  ease  and 
pleasure  of  his  visit  to  the  perplexity  and  caution  incident 
to  handling  a  case  new  to  his  short  experience,  hesitated  for 
a  moment,  and  then,  putting  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  set 
forth,  silent,  saturnine,  circumspect,  seeming  a  very  different 
person  from  the  smart  young  idler  before  the  white-faced 
store.  He  carried  the  wonder  of  it  with  him  all  adown  the 
turn-row  between  the  ranks  of  corn  and  to  the  doorstep  of 
the  house  itself.  "  A  body  would  'low  ez  a  smart,  strong, 
rampagious  feller  like  Teck  would  be  jes'  the  one  ter  gin 
the  sher'ff  a  tumble  race  through  them  mountings."  He 
nodded  toward  the  wooded  heights,  with  a  realizing  sense  of 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.        183 

their  value  to  the  ill-doer  as  an  impenetrable  covert.  Then 
he  lifted  his  voice  in  a  stentorian  "  Hello  I  "  for  knocking 
on  the  door  is  here  little  in  vogue.  The  sound  summoned 
little  Mrs.  Strobe,  valiant  as  a  far  larger  woman  might  be, 
and  trim,  and  dapper,  with  a  reproachful  lifted  forefinger, 
and  a  gibe  upon  her  lips,  although  her  curiosity  as  to  his 
mission  quivered  through  every  fibre. 

u  Waal,  stranger,  ye  could  n't  holler  louder  ef  ye  war  a 
peeg  an'  't  war  killin'-time.  Ye  '11  never  go  off  in  a  lung 
complaint.  Don't  ye  know  we  hev  got  a  sick  man  in  the 
house  ?  " 

Isabel  had  boldly  followed  her  grandmother,  and  stood 
ready  to  participate  in  the  conversation,  should  it  prove  of 
interest.  Marcella  came  only  to  the  door,  but  lingered 
there,  leaning  against  the  frame. 

44  That 's  jes'  what  I  kem  ter  speak  ter  ye  'bout,  ma'am," 
said  the  officer.  "  I  'm  the  dep'ty  sher'ff  o'  Kildeer  County." 

"  Laws-a-massy !  "  exclaimed  the  old  woman,  by  way  of 
compliment  and  obeisance  to  the  dignity  of  his  authority. 

"  An'  it  hev  been  tole  ter  me  ez  the  fambly  want  Teck 
Jepson  arrested  fur  unlawfully  ridin'  a  race,  an'  ridin'  down 
an'  injurin'  Eli  Strobe  whilst  doin'  this  unlawful  act." 

They  were  all  silent,  revolving  this  succinct  statement,  and 
adjusting  the  circumstances  thus  set  forth  to  their  own  con 
sciousness  of  the  facts. 

"  Now,"  continued  Wright,  "  ef  ye  '11  complain  agin  him, 
1 11  arrest  Jepson  an'  git  him  c'mitted,  an'  land  him  in  jail 
in  Colb'ry  ter  await  the  event." 

'•  Me  want  ter  jail  Teck  Jepson  fur  runnin'  a  horse  along 
a  plain  road  ?  "  cried  the  old  woman.  "  Ef  ye  war  n't  a 
stranger,  sir,  I  'd  tell  ye  ez  ye  air  a  crazy  buzzard." 

"  Yes  'm,"  said  the  deputy,  sanely  agreeing  in  her  view. 

"  Eli  got  hurt  by  accident,  through  bein'  too  sharp-set  ter 
arrest  folks  fur  nuthin'.  an'  Teck  war  his  bes'  friend  in  the 
'lection.  He  could  n't  pull  up  his  horse.  Naw,  sir  ;  wait 
till  Eli  gits  better  or  wuss." 


184   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

"  That 's  yer  conclusion,  ma'am  ?  "  said  the  officer,  visibly 
relieved.  Then  he  glanced  at  Marcella.  She  stood  silent, 
intent,  pondering.  The  young  man's  eyes  lingered.  "  Do 
his  darter  want  Jepson  arrested  ?  "  he  asked,  seeking  an 
added  respect  in  using  the  third  person. 

Marcella  did  not  answer.  That  brooding  dubitation  was 
still  on  her  face,  and  her  eyes  were  full  of  untranslated 
meanings. 

"  Speak,  chile,"  urged  her  grandmother,  tartly. 

The  man's  inquiring  eyes  still  lingered;  Marcella  suddenly 
raised  her  own.  She  looked  at  him  for  a  moment,  and 
slowly  shook  her  head.  A  deep  flush  overspread  her  face, 
and  she  turned  hastily  within. 

That  night  a  wind  arose ;  a  great,  sonorous,  declamatory 
voice  it  had.  Some  rude  iconoclastic  spirit  was  rife  in  its 
midst,  and  threatened  alike  roof-tree  and  hearth-stone.  The 
shutters  were  closed ;  the  door  was  barred ;  but  its  heavy 
touch  was  on  the  walls,  and  every  timber  shook.  The 
sense  of  it  pervaded  the  deep  unconsciousness  that  had 
hitherto  enwrapped  Eli  Strobe.  The  continuity  of  the  knowl 
edge  of  cause  and  effect  was  broken ;  he  did  not  realize  why 
he  was  awake,  what  turmoil  affected  his  perceptions ;  he 
only  knew  again  himself  for  himself,  and  talked  and  raged 
incoherently,  the  strength  of  delirium  in  his  muscles.  The 
little  dame  and  the  two  frightened  girls  were  alone  to  ex 
perience  these  undreamed-of  terrors ;  for  since  the  invalid 
had  been  so  quiescent,  and  all  had  been  done  that  was  need 
ful,  the  helping  neighbors  had  felt  their  services  superfluous, 
and  had  betaken  themselves  home.  His  mind  had  gone 
back  to  the  scene  of  the  disaster.  As  the  thunder  rolled 
he  would  lift  himself  in  bed,  ghastly  with  his  bloody,  ban 
daged  head,  his  wild,  unreasoning  eye,  and  with  his  strong 
right  hand  upheld  warningly  as  he  listened.  "  Hear !  hear  !  " 
he  would  cry.  "  Hear  'em  gallopin'  thar  horses  !  Down 
the  very  throat  o'  the  law !  "  And  when  a  new  peal  sounded 
louder  and  deeper  than  before,  he  sprang  up,  catching 


THE  DESPOT   OF  BROOMSEDGE    COVE.       185 

at  an  imaginary  bridle,  declaring  that  he  had  unhorsed 
Teck  Jepson  and  had  broken  his  neck.  And  there  was 
Teck  now,  in  hell !  —  so  surprised  to  be  there,  and  so  taken 
aback  to  see  the  devil,  that  Eli  Strobe,  who  had  sent  him 
thither,  could  not  refrain  from  laughing.  He  held  his  sides 
while  his  wild  shrieks  of  frenzied  mirth  filled  the  cabin, 
shriller  than  the  wind,  more  turbulent  than  the  thunder,  as 
persistent  as  the  rain  that  came  down  in  torrents  upon  the 
roof.  The  women  clung  together  in  terror,  and  with  trem 
bling  lips  devised  futile  expedients  to  quiet  him.  But  the 
vaunted  "  yerb  tea "  failed ;  and  although  at  first  some 
vague  recognition  of  Marcella,  or  Isabel,  or  his  mother 
would  prevail,  and  after  a  wild  sidelong  stare  and  a  doubt 
ful  mutter  he  would  consent  to  lie  back  upon  the  pillow  and 
have  the  quilts  drawn  close  about  his  shoulders  again,  he 
would  soon  forget  them,  and  would  spring  up  anew ;  and 
presently  he  recognized  them  no  more.  He  declared  now 
that  one,  then  another,  was  Teck  Jepson,  and  should  be 
arrested  on  the  spot.  And  as  a  ghastly  flash  of  lightning 
made  a  mockery  of  the  gleam  of  the  little  tallow  dip  and 
the  smouldering  fire,  and  filled  the  room  with  a  quivering 
blue  flare  of  a  blinding  intensity,  he  began  to  cry  out  that 
he  was  dead,  —  he  was  a  dead  man  ;  that  Teck  Jepson  had 
killed  him,  and  nobody  cared  to  avenge  him.  But  he  would 
walk,  he  protested  with  a  terrible  fury ;  as  a  ghost  he  would 
walk  this  earth.  He  would  make  the  gallows  seem  a  kind 
fate  to  the  man  who  had  cheated  it,  and  who  had  torn  him 
from  life  that  was  so  fair  and  full,  and  had  cast  him  into 
some  outer  darkness  where  there  was  gnashing  of  teeth  ; 
and  he  ground  his  own,  with  a  frightful  look  on  his  face. 
He  would  meet  the  man  who  had  slain  him,  in  lonely 
places,  and  reveal  hideous  spiritual  errors  to  him,  and  some 
day  would  fall  upon  him  and  throttle  him  ;  and  those  who 
might  find  him  would  never  know  why  Teck  Jepson  had 
died.  He  would  walk,  —  he  would  walk  I  And  he  began 
to  gather  the  sheet  about  him. 


186   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

k'  Oh,  Marcelly !  "  cried  the  cowering  Mrs.  Strobe,  "  I 
hev  done  wrong.  The  yerb  tea  ain't  no  good,  sure  enough, 
this  time,  an'  mebbe  thar  war  some  healin'  in  the  old  doc 
tor's  powders.  He  'lowed  they  'd  keep  Eli  quiet.  Oh,  I 
wish  I  hed  n't  flung  'em  away  !  He  said  the  lotium  air  ter 
go  on  the  outside,  else  I  'd  gin  Eli  a  mouthful  o'  that.  Oh, 
Marcelly,  ef  the  doctor  war  jes'  hyar  agin  !  " 

"  I  '11  go  arter  him !  "  cried  the  girl,  springing  up  with 
renewed  hope. 

"  Ye  sha'n't !  Ye  sha'n't !  "  The  old  woman  clutched 
her  arm.  "  In  this  storm  ez  seems  ter  kem  from  perdition 
itself,  an'  he  livin'  fourteen  miles  off !  Ye  dunno  the  way. 
Ye  11  git  los'." 

u  Waal,"  said  Marcella,  full  of  courage  again,  since  there 
was  something  to  do  and  to  risk,  "  I  '11  rouse  up  the  nighest 
neighbors,  an'  git  some  o'  them  ter  go." 

"  I  dunno  whether  they  will !  "  cried  Mrs.  Strobe,  wring 
ing  her  hands.  "  I  could  n't  blame  'em  ef  they  would  n't. 
Listen  at  that  wind  'mongst  the  trees;  it  sounds  ez  ef  the 
very  mountings  war  groanin'  in  mis'ry.  An'  the  thunder, 
an'  the  lightnin',  an'  the  rain  !  " 

"  I  '11  try  'em,"  said  Marcella,  sturdily. 

Her  grandmother  still  clung  to  her,  first  remonstrating, 
then  urging  and  charging  her  as  she  prepared  to  slip 
through  the  door.  Marcella  only  stopped  to  put  a  red  shawl 
over  her  head,  and  then  she  was  out  in  the  blackness  of  the 
night  and  the  terrors  of  the  storm.  The  wind  caught  the 
door  with  so  violent  a  wrench  that  her  grandmother  and 
Isabel  had  much  ado  to  close  it  again,  and  ere  they  did  they 
called  wildly  to  her  to  come  back  ;  she  would  be  blown 
away,  or  a  limb  of  a  tree  might  fall  upon  her  and  kill  her. 
There  was  no  response  from  the  darkness  without,  and  as 
they  barred  the  door  they  knew  that  she  was  gone,  and  felt 
as  forlorn  as  if  many  had  been  withdrawn  instead  of  one. 

Despite  her  familiarity  with  every  step  of  the  way,  Mar 
cella  thought  herself  inconceivably  long  in  reaching  the 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BItOOMSEDGE    COTE.        187 

gate,  so  buffeted  she  \vas  by  the  wind,  so  thong-like  was  the 
lashing  rain,  so  turbulent  the  elemental  commotion.  A  vivid 
flash  of  lightning  seemed  to  meet  her  there,  followed  so 
closely  by  others,  hardly  less  brilliant,  that  the  effect  for 
a  few  moments  was  unintermittent,  while  the  simultaneous 
thunder  rolled.  The  sinister  glare  revealed  the  sky  with 
its  myriads  of  lines  of  rain  ;  the  tormented  mountains  with 
their  groaning,  swaying  forests  ;  and  close  at  hand  the 
broad  cornfield,  the  stalks  tossed  and  writhen,  here  and 
there  flinging  up  their  long  blades  in  a  gesture  that  sug 
gested  an  appreciated  agony.  And  then  all  was  dark  again, 
and  her  progress  along  the  turn-row  was  beset  with  unex 
pected  difficulty,  since  the  stalks,  broken  and  bent  across  it, 
furnished  continually  recurring  barriers.  She  was  glad  to 
emerge  into  the  open  road  at  last,  and  she  paused,  breath 
less  for  a  moment.  The  difficulties  of  the  way  had  so  ab 
sorbed  her  that  she  was  now  canvassing  for  the  first  time 
whom  she  might  best  rouse.  The  storm,  since  she  was  in 
its  midst,  seemed  a  more  valid  obstacle  than  when  her 
grandmother  had  suggested  it.  One  neighbor  she  dismissed 
from  consideration  as  too  old  to  grant  so  onerous  a  favor. 
Another  had  a  wife  and  child  very  ill.  A  third  was  afflicted 
with  "  lung  complaint."  As  she  stood  doubtful  a  certain 
sound  caught  her  ears  in  a  lull  in  the  wind,  —  the  sound  of 
a  hammer  and  a  sledge  upon  an  anvil.  How  strange,  she 
thought,  that  Clem  Sanders  should  be  at  the  forge  at  this 
hour  of  the  night,  —  how  providential !  She  had  heard 
none  of  the  rumors  subsequent,  to  the  parson's  vision,  and  it 
was  out  of  her  mind  for  the  nonce.  She  only  reflected,  as 
she  turned  her  swift  steps  thither,  that  Clem  Sanders  would 
gladly  ride  thrice  fourteen  miles  on  an  errand  for  her,  in 
different  to  the  fury  of  any  mountain  storm.  "  He  be  pow 
erful  skeered  o'  gal-folks,  an'  say  '  Yes  'm  '  an'  <  Naw  'm  ' 
even  ter  Is'bel,  perliter  'n  a  pig  in  a  poke,  an'  he  ain't  got 
no  conversation  'mongst  gals,  but  he  ain't  'feard  o'  nuthin' 
else.  I'll  be  bound  he  ain't  'feard  o'  the  weather." 


188       THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE. 

Her  heart  was  light  and  warm  again  ;  she  gathered  the 
wet  red  shawl  closer  about  her  head.  What  did  she  care 
how  the  rain  beat  in  her  face,  how  the  thunder  roared  !  She 
welcomed  the  fierce  recurrent  flare  of  the  lightning ;  kind 
it  was  to  show  her  the  rocky  ways,  that  the  red  clay  mire 
might  not  cling  to  her  feet  and  impede  her  flying  steps. 
The  short  cut  she  made  took  her  up  the  slope  of  the  hill,  and 
she  presently  found  herself  approaching  the  forge  on  the  re 
verse  side  from  the  door.  She  had  hardly  heard  again  the 
sound  of  hammer  and  sledge  in  the  clamors  without,  but  more 
than  once  she  saw  the  gleam  of  the  light  through  the  ill- 
chinked  walls,  as  the  fire  flared.  As  she  came  close  she 
heard  the  bellows  sighing,  and  the  light  from  the  walls  hard 
by  flickered  out  anew.  She  was  near  to  the  little  shutter, 
and  she  laid  her  hand  upon  it.  It  opened  readily  under 
her  touch,  and  she  stood  looking  in. 

The  interior  was  flooded  with  white  light,  as  the  bellows 
fostered  the  flaring  fire.  She  saw  the  anvil  glitter.  A 
man  —  Jake  Baintree  it  was  —  with  lifted  arm  worked  at 
the  bellows,  while  another,  whose  face  was  averted,  held, 
with  the  smith's  tongs,  a  piece  of  metal  in  the  flames  ;  it  was 
red-hot  now  ;  it  glowed  a  lighter  tint ;  it  glistened  at  a  white 
heat,  and  he  turned  suddenly  and  whisked  it  on  the  anvil. 
He  lifted  his  eyes  as  he  moved,  and  saw  before  him  the 
square  of  the  open  window,  the  girl's  fair,  ethereal  face 
framed  within  it  upon  the  black  background  of  the  stormy 
night,  and  with  the  red  shawl  falling  about  her  head,  from 
the  folds  of  which  her  curling  hair  half  escaped.  He  started 
back,  with  the  hammer  in  his  hand,  calling  aloud  in  sur 
prised  accents,  "  Look  !  Look  !  " 

Jake  Baintree  turned  abruptly,  and  his  eyes  met  hers. 


XI. 

THE  bellows  ceased  to  sigh.  Bereft  of  its  breath,  the 
riotous  white  flaring  of  the  forge  fire  sank  suddenly  into  a 
listless  yellow  flame  and  a  dull  tawny  coal.  The  shop, 
transformed  from  the  vividly  illuminated  interior  presented 
but  a  moment  ago,  was  a  shadowy,  cavernous  place,  suffused 
with  a  dusky  red  glow  that  barely  served  to  show  the  anvil, 
the  black  hood,  the  sombre  suggestions  of  wall  and  roof, 
and  the  fio-ures  of  the  two  startled  men.  One  still  reached 

O 

upward  to  the  bellows  ;  the  other  stood  with  the  hammer  in 
his  hand,  his  figure  alert  and  tense  against  the  dim  fire, 
that  cast  a  fluctuating,  feeble  glimmer  upon  their  faces. 
Outside  the  wind  went  howling  by  ;  the  torrents  were 
tossed  hither  and  thither  in  its  tempestuous,  devious  course, 
and  drove  heavily  before  it.  Some  freakish  spirit  of  the 
air  seemed  to  catch  the  shutter  in  Marcella's  grasp,  striv 
ing  to  tear  it  from  her ;  she  vainly  sought  to  tighten  her 
hold,  feeling  like  one  in  a  dream,  who  tries  to  move,  and 
finds  in  dismay  a  hopeless  breach  between  the  will  and 
the  muscles ;  but  the  next  moment  the  fickle  blast  was 
gone,  leaving  the  frail  batten  trembling  but  passive  in  her 
hand.  She  stared  with  dilated  eyes  into  the  ill-lighted 
place  ;  her  surprise  was  redoubled  as  she  noticed  the  evi 
dent  agitation  of  the  men,  and  became  impressed  anew 
with  the  strangeness  of  their  presence  here  at  this  hour,  — 
their  inexplicable  intrusion  upon  the  smith's  prerogative. 

It  was  she  who  was  first  enabled  to  speak.  "  Whar  's 
Clem  Sanders  ?  "  she  demanded,  in  a  tone  of  reprehension 
and  accusation,  her  voice  lifted  that  it  might  be  heard 
above  the  iteration  of  the  rain  on  the  roof  and  the  wild 


190   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

skirl  of  the  wind  as  it  came  and  went.  So  great  was  the 
repulsion  which  Jake  Baintree  inspired,  and  her  shrinking 
from  the  knowledge  of  his  dolorous  record  of  suspicion  and 
imprisonment  and  ostracism,  which  branded  him  with  the 
shame  and  the  cruelty  of  a  crime  of  which  the  verdict  of 
the  jury  declared  him  innocent,  that  it  was  not  at  his  jail- 
bleached  face,  distinct  amongst  the  shadows,  that  she  looked, 
but  at  the  stranger,  still  motionless  beside  the  anvil,  on 
which  the  hot  metal  had  cooled  to  a  dull  tint,  and  still  with 
the  hammer  in  his  hand,  gazing  silently  at  her. 

He  did  not  answer  ;  he  turned  his  head  slightly  and 
looked  at  Baintree,  as  if  referring  the  question  to  him,  —  a 
well-shaped  head,  with  the  hair  cut  so  close  upon  it  that 
the  light,  striking  upward,  barely  indicated  its  reddish-yel 
low  tint.  Marcella  reluctantly  followed  his  glance  to  Jake 
Baintree's  face,  which  was  suddenly  instinct  with  his  wonted 
sly  intelligence. 

"  Why,  howdy,  Marcelly,"  he  said,  as  casually  as  if  they 
had  met  on  the  roadside  in  the  summer  sunshine.  "  War 
ye  a-wantin'  ter  see  Clem  ?  " 

There  seemed  something  sinister  to  her  in  this  deliberate 
ignoring  of  the  singular  circumstances  of  the  encounter  : 
she  could  not  account  for  it ;  she  could  only  perceive  the 
relief  in  the  stranger's  manner,  a  covert  reliance  on  Jake 
Baintree's  cleverness  to  possess  the  situation.  He  looked 
down,  and  mechanically  turned  the  piece  of  iron  on  the 
anvil  with  the  smith's  tongs,  and  she  knew  he  thus  hid  a 
smile  of  relish  of  his  coadjutor's  ready  retort. 

She  was  easily  angered,  and  it  was  not  in  Eli  Strobe's 
daughter  to  be  readily  affrighted.  She  replied  with  that 
note  of  reproof  and  objection  with  which  she  had  inaugu 
rated  the  conversation.  "  I  never  would  hev  kem  ter  Clem 
Sanders's  forge  a-sarchin'  fur  you-uns,"  she  said.  "  I  never 
would  hev  expected  ter  see  ye  hyar." 

Somehow,  her  faculties  seemed  extended  in  some  sort. 
She  was  looking  at  Baintree's  sharp  features,  cut  upon 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.   191 

the  darkling  shadows  about  him,  and  yet  she  knew  that 
the  stranger,  although  his  head  was  bent  down,  was  gazing 
at  her  with  fixed  and  curious  eyes.  She  did  not  realize 
the  interest  awakened  by  her  face,  richly  dim  in  the 
shadow,  like  an  old  painting,  pale  no  longer,  but  with  the 
dull  flash  of  excitement  and  anger,  her  brilliant  clear  eyes 
and  the  curling  tangles  of  the  wind-tossed  hair  indefinite 
against  the  folds  of  the  dark  red  shawl  and  the  obscurity 
without.  She  was  feeling  baffled  ;  her  nerves  were  strained  ; 
somewhere  the  terrible  heights  gave  forth  a  wild,  sonorous, 
maddened  voice,  full  of  a  frantic  anguish,  and  she  was 
reminded  of  her  father,  and  his  torturing  frenzy,  and  her 
errand  for  help,  which  the  surprise  had  effaced  for  the  in 
stant.  She  suddenly  flung  out  her  arms  toward  them 
through  the  window. 

"  He  's  dyin' !  He  's  dyin' !  An'  I  mought  ez  well  go 
ax  the  mountings  fur  holp  ez  you-uns !  " 

She  fell  half  fainting  against  the  window-frame,  hardly 
noticing  that,  with  a  change  of  expression  and  an  abrupt 
start,  Jake  Baintree  came  with  his  deft,  light  step  toward 
her.  But  when  he  was  near  she  shrank  from  him,  with 
that  aversion  which  one  experiences  from  the  propinquity 
of  a  cold-blooded  animal,  and  she  stood  erect.  His  voice 
was  full  of  feeling,  and  she  was  sensible  of  an  effort  at  self- 
reproach,  as  a  duty  which  she  owed  him  as  reparation. 

"  Laws-a-massy,  Marcelly,  air  Eli  wuss  ?  I  kin  do  enny- 
thin'  fur  him  ez  Clem  Sanders  kin." 

She  glanced  quickly  at  the  stranger,  to  judge  if  he  had 
smiled  again,  perchance,  at  her  outburst,  so  alert  was  her 
pride  to  take  cognizance  of  ridicule  even  at  the  moment 
that  she  was  sobbing  out  her  errand.  His  face  was  grave, 
so  far  as  the  shadows  would  reveal  it.  Then  her  attention 
reverted  to  Jake  Baintree,  and  she  looked  at  him  with  a 
wondering  distrust  and  curiosity  as  he  suddenly  exclaimed, 
"  The  Lord's  hand  is  in  it !  "  So  pious  he  was,  to  be  sure, 
for  a  man  who  had  renounced  religion,  and  who  had  no 


192        THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOM  SEDGE   COVE. 

other  use  for  a  river  than  a  wild  fowl  might  find.  "  The 
Lord's  hand  is  in  it !  No  use  ter  ride  fourteen  mile ;  this 
hyar  man  's  a  doctor,  Mareelly,  an'  he  '11  physic  Eli." 

He  laid  his  hand  on  the  shoulder  of  the  man  at  the  anvil, 
who  turned  and  stared  at  him  in  palpable  amazement.  The 
fire  was  so  low  she  could  barely  see  his  face,  but  his  whole 
attitude  was  expressive  of  surprise  and  objection. 

"  He  's  a  valley  man,  Marcelly,  an'  he  be  a  powerful 
smart  man,"  Jake  Baintree  said,  with  less  the  air  of  intro 
duction  than  of  a  showman  commending  a  work  of  art. 
"  He  's  the  doctor  ez  physicked  me  whilst  in  jail,  an'  he 
brung  me  through  wonderful ;  an'  that 's  how  I  kem  ter  be 
'quainted  with  him.  He  '11  kem  right  straight,  Marcelly," 
he  continued,  with  an  assurance  as  of  a  proprietor.  *'  Ye 
jes'  run  home  out'n  the  rain  ;  we  '11  kem  ez  soon  ez  we  kin. 
I  duimo  what  ailed  me  ter  let  ye  stan'  out  thar  in  the  rain 
an'  under  them  drippin'  eaves  all  this  lime.  Ye  jes'  g'long, 
an'  we  '11  f oiler  ye." 

Marcella  hesitated  for  a  moment ;  then  turned  away 
from  the  window,  and  the  dull  red  scene  within  disappeared 
as  if  it  had  been  caught  up  into  the  black  night.  Outside 
it  seemed  darker,  if  that  were  possible,  than  before ;  the 
lightnings  had  ceased  their  delirious  quiver  ;  the  winds  were 
steadier  ;  the  rain  was  a  continuous  downpour.  She  kept 
her  hand  on  the  wall  of  the  forge,  as  she  slowly  made  the 
circuit  around  it,  still  trembling  with  the  excitements  of  the 
evening,  and  anxiously  malcontent  with  the  result  of  the 
interview.  What  strange  man  was  this,  that  lent  himself 
to  these  curious  midnight  labors,  these  unwarranted  intru 
sions  ?  What  could  he  be  doing  in  that  forge,  with  the 
smith's  tongs,  and  swage,  and  bellows,  that  he  wielded  as 
his  own  ?  And  why  was  he  secret  about  it,  and  easily  star 
tled  and  affrighted  ?  And  how  amazing  was  it  that  he,  a 
physician,  should  be  at  the  disposal  of  Jake  Baintree,  and 
accept  his  guidance  !  Then  she  recollected  the  astonish 
ment  of  the  stranger,  plainly  shown,  upon  Jake  Baintree's 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.      193 

proposal  that  he  should  act  in  the  place  of  the  distant  physi 
cian.  Was  he  a  doctor  at  all  ?  she  wondered ;  and  suddenly 
she  remembered  his  evident  reluctance,  and  was  chilled 
with  the  contradictory  fear  that  after  all  he  might  not  come. 
More  than  once  she  paused,  as  she  stumbled  along  in  the 
darkness,  to  judge  if  perchance,  amidst  the  clamors  of  the 
elements,  she  might  hear  their  footsteps  splashing  in  the 
muddy  road  behind  her.  No  sound  save  the  march  of  the 
legions  of  the  rain  down  and  down  the  valley ;  the  wind 
wailed  afar  off,  under  sentence  of  exile.  An  utter  dark 
ness  overspread  all  the  world.  She  might  not  have  kept 
the  road,  save  for  that  strange  yet  familiar  phenomenon  of 
the  independence  of  the  muscles,  by  which  one  mechanically 
performs  actions,  the  processes  of  which  have  no  recognized 
correlative  consciousness  in  the  brain.  Her  feet  found  the 
way  which  her  intelligence  could  not  discern.  She  pres 
ently  felt  the  wet  blades  of  the  cornstalks  in  her  face,  and 
knew  that  she  was  in  the  turn-row,  walking  as  one  blind  or 
asleep  along  the  straight,  narrow  space,  and  turning  when 
the  gate  was  reached.  Again  she  paused  to  listen  if  any 
footfall  followed :  only  the  turmoils  of  the  rain  sobbing  in 
the  half-spent  passion  of  the  storm,  and  the  melancholy  stir 
ring  of  the  forests,  until  suddenly  an  alien  sound  smote  her 
ear,  a  high,  cracked,  exhausted  voice,  now  talking  incoher 
ently,  now  seeking  to  scream  with  muscles  that  failed  mid 
way,  all  betokening  the  continued  delirium  within  the  cabin. 
The  proximity  of  the  dwelling  was  further  suggested  by 
the  feeble  flicker  through  the  crevices  of  the  batten  shutter. 
Once  more  she  reflected  how  powerless  they  within  were  to 
succor  or  subdue  this  strange,  distraught  spirit  that  seemed 
to  have  invaded  their  home  ;  how  far  away  that  entity  whom 
they  knew  as  Eli  Strobe  had  journeyed,  unconscious  of  their 
efforts,  unresponsive  to  their  appeals.  When  she  reached 
the  porch  she  lingered,  peering  into  the  darkness ;  the  rain 
had  almost  ceased  near  at  hand  ;  farther  away  she  could 
hear  the  pattering  of  the  long  files  of  drops  into  the  valley 


194   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

below,  but  it  had  a  fitful,  discursive  effect,  and  betokened 
that  this  verge  of  the  rain-cloud  had  followed  into  the  vasty 
vagueness  wherein  the  great  vaporous  masses  were  ex 
pended.  The  vines  close  at  hand  were  all  dripping,  drip 
ping  ;  more  than  once  the  iteration  of  the  drops  beguiled 
into  hopeful  credulity  her  anxious  desire  to  hear  a  step 
close  at  hand.  Although  a  comparative  silence,  or  rather 
a  sense  of  spent  sound,  made  the  air  null,  there  was  some 
vague  stir  in  the  upper  atmosphere  ;  for  once  or  twice  the 
rifts  rent  in  the  black,  overhanging  clouds  showed  the  palpi 
tating  splendors  of  a  white  star.  A  raucous  sound  made 
her  start,  —  only  a  frog  croaking  in  a  pool  by  the  fence. 
And  once  more  that  wild,  strange  voice  within  rang  out, 
with  all  its  suggested  lapses  of  identity  to  make  her  shrink 
and  wince.  She  burst  into  tears,  and  turned  again  toward 
the  gate.  She  would  not  go  in  and  tell  the  frantic  grand 
mother  and  sister  how  her  mission  had  failed,  how  she  had 
been  mocked  and  derided  with  fantastic  misrepresentations 
and  promises.  A  physician,  was  he,  forsooth,  a  "  mighty 
smart  man,"  who  would  haunt  the  little  mountain  forge  in 
company  with  Jake  Baintree,  in  the  secret  midnight,  for 
some  inexplicable  purpose,  and  wield  the  hammer  at  the 
anvil !  She  knew  little  of  the  habitudes  of  this  world,  but 
she  sneered  with  contempt  of  her  own  credulity  as  she 
sought  to  imagine  the  only  medical  man  within  her  ken,  the 
old  country  doctor,  at  such  escapades,  —  he  of  the  big 
spectacles,  and  the  rickety  buggy,  and  the  bald  head,  and 
the  black  store-clothes.  Conventionality,  reliability,  and 
respectability  could  not  have  been  more  expressively  im 
personated. 

Again  that  wild,  exhausted  wail  from  within,  the  vague 
sound  of  the  troubled  comments  of  the  watchers,  and  she 
started  anew  upon  her  mission  to  arouse  the  neighbors  ; 
weeping  that  so  much  time  had  been  wasted,  and  her  heart 
throbbing  with  anger  and  resentment  that  she  had  been  so 
ready  a  dupe.  She  had  reached  the  turn-row,  when  suddenly 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       195 

the  galloping  of  horses  invaded  the  silence,  the  hoof-beats 
resonant,  as  they  splashed  into  the  pools  of  the  red  clay  road. 
She  stood  still  amongst  the  leaning  stalks,  listening,  hoping, 
doubting.  Her  heart  sank  in  an  interval  of  silence ;  then 
that  turbulent  sound  of  swift  equestrians  was  again  upon 
the  air,  and  she  knew  that  the  horsemen  were  coming  in 
single  file  down  the  turn-row.  She  faced  about  precipi 
tately,  and  ran  like  a  frightened  deer.  She  would  be  there 
first ;  they  should  never  know  that  she  had  doubted  them, 
and  had  come  forth  to  search  for  others.  She  was  half 
laughing  and  half  crying,  in  the  intensity  of  her  relief,  in 
her  relish  of  her  own  quick  resource.  Nevertheless,  she 
had  barely  reached  the  gate,  so  swift  was  their  progress, 
when  they  reined  up  beside  it ;  she  silently  ran  through  it 
in  the  darkness,  and  in  the  interval  while  they  dismounted 
and  hitched  their  horses  she  made  her  way  to  the  porch. 
The  shaft  of  light  that  fell  out  into  the  night,  as  Mrs. 
Strobe,  hearing  their  approach,  cautiously  opened  the  door, 
revealed  Marcella,  her  tall  figure  swathed  in  her  clinging 
wet  garments,  her  red  shawl  twisted  about  her  throat,  her 
dense  hair  weighted  with  rain  hanging  upon  her  shoulders, 
her  eyes  soft  and  dewy,  her  lips  all  tenderly  smiling  upon 
the  advancing  shadows. 

"  I  fetched  him,  Marcelly !  "  Jake  Baintree  exclaimed,  as 
he  came  up  the  steps  of  the  porch,  and  the  light  from  the 
room  showed  his  keen,  clearly  cut  face,  shiny  with  the  rain, 
and  his  eyes,  all  eager  with  interest  and  excitement,  sharply 
glancing  out  from  under  his  .hat-brim.  "  He  'lowed  he 
could  n't  do  nuthin'  'thout  his  physic,  so  he  an'  me  hed  ter 
take  time  ter  go  —  yander,"  —  he  hesitated  suddenly  and 
spoke  with  embarrassment,  jerking  his  thumb  vaguely  over 
his  shoulder,  —  "  ter  git  his  med'cine-chist.  Good-evenin', 
Mis'  Strobe,"  he  went  on,  his  voice  the  very  essence  of  oily 
propitiation,  as  he  caught  sight  of  the  little  dame,  seeming 
forlorn,  and  smaller  and  more  wrinkled  than  ever,  as  she 
peered  out  of  the  door.  The  long-legged  Isabel  could  easily 


196   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

look  over  her  shoulder,  and  she  did.  "  Powerful  sorry  ter 
hear  from  Marcelly  how  Eli  hev  been  tuk.  I  hev  brung  a 
doctor-man,  ez  hev  been  abidin'  with  me,  ter  see  ef  he  can't 
settle  him  somehows." 

Mrs.  Strobe's  head  was  cocked  askew  in  inquiry.  What 
kind  of  a  "doctor-man  "  was  this  who  abode  with  Jake 
Baintree  ?  Then,  as  a  strange,  angry  mutter  came  from  the 
room  within?  she  looked  over  her  shoulder  with  a  frightened 
gesture. 

"  Ennybody  ez  be  named  '  doctor '  mought  ez  well  try 
thai*  hand  on  Eli,  kase  ef  they  can't  make  him  no  better,  I 
reckon  they  can't  make  him  no  wuss,"  she  assented,  not  too 
graciously.  Her  sharp  eyes  strove  to  pierce  the  gloom  that 
hung  about  the  dusky  shadow  that  followed  Jake  Baintree 
toward  the  door.  There  was  still  suggested  in  the  manner 
of  the  figure  that  reluctance  which  Marcella  had  noted  at 
the  forge.  It  angered  her  in  some  sort  and  it  excited  her 
curiosity.  She  felt  an  antagonism  toward  him,  despite  the 
anxious,  absorbing  emotions  that  might  have  been  supposed 
to  crowd  out  every  other  sentiment.  The  next  moment 
she  had  forgotten  all  except  that  she  had  brought  help 
where  it  was  so  sorely  needed.  In  the  necessity  for  exer 
tion  during  the  last  hour  and  the  hardships  of  the  storm, 
she  had  been  spared  something  of  the  full  realization  of 
the  calamity  that  had  befallen  them.  But  as  Mrs.  Strobe 
opened  the  door,  and  Marcella  caught  sight  of  her  father 
anew,  she  winced  from  the  strange  metamorphosis  that 
delirium  had  wrought;  the  alien  spirit  that  possessed  the 
accustomed  face  and  figure  almost  thwarted  recognition. 
He  had  risen,  wrapped  in  the  sheets,  still  clinging  to  his 
spectral  delusion ;  and  as  the  flicker  of  the  fire  rose  and 
fell,  and  the  tallow  dip  flared  and  sputtered,  his  sheeted 
figure,  with  its  bandaged  bloody  head,  was  dim  and  ghostly 
in  the  dusky  corner  of  the  cabin  where  he  stood,  fantasti 
cally  gesticulating,  unnoting  the  new-comers  even  while 
his  burning  eyes  were  riveted  upon  them,  still  muttering 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.   197 

his  threats  of  vengeance  on  the  man  who  he  declared  had 
slain  him. 

"  Scot-free  !  Scot-free,"  he  exclaimed.  "  I  '11  walk  ! 
I  '11  walk!" 

Jake  Baintree's  hat  fell  from  his  nerveless  hand,  as  he 
stood  gazing,  open-mouthed,  at  the  phenomenon  of  frenzy 
for  the  first  time  presented  to  his  scanty  experience.  Mrs. 
Strobe  and  Isabel,  somewhat  accustomed  to  their  terrors, 
took  heed  of  it  with  a  certain  painful  curiosity  as  to  its  fur 
ther  developments. 

*•'  He  'lows  he  air  a  harnt,"  said  Mrs.  Strobe  in  a  low 
voice  to  Baintree.  "'  An'  ef  that  air  the  way  he  air  goin' 
ter  behave  whenst  he  air  dead,  a  body  oughter  take  a  power 
o'  pains  ter  keep  him  alive.  I  hope  he  '11  last  out  my  time, 
the  Lord  knows." 

Marcella  blessed  the  tears  that  crowded  out  the  sight, 
and  as  she  turned  to  the  stranger,  who  was  entering  last  of 
all,  and  wiped  her  eyes  with  the  fringed  end  of  the  wet 
shawl,  all  her  heart  was  in  the  words,  as  she  adjured  him, 
"  Fur  the  Lord's  sake !  Fur  the  Lord's  sake  !  "  and  fell  to 
sobbing  anew. 

He  made  no  reply,  and  it  seemed  to  her  —  and  she  could 
have  smitten  him  for  it  —  a  most  casual  glance  that  he  cast 
toward  the  master  of  the  house,  now  striding  about,  unin 
telligibly  calling  aloud  in  a  raucous  voice ;  now  shrinking 
into  the  corner  and  standing  close  against  the  wall,  mutter 
ing  in  sinister  fashion.  And  surely,  surely  nothing  could 
have  been  more  deliberate  and  unexcited  than  the  manner 
with  which  the  doctor  divested  himself  of  his  hat  and  a  long 
shiny  black  overcoat,  a  strange  garment  in  this  locality, 
where  waterproof  luxuries  had  never  prevailed.  She  looked 
loweringly  at  him  as  he  quietly  drew  off  his  gloves.  Now 
that  he  stood  revealed,  she  saw  that  he  was  a  young  man, 
—  as  young  as  Jake  Baintree  himself ;  he  had  a  fair  com 
plexion,  retaining  its  distinctive  characteristic,  despite  the 
temporary  sunburn.  His  mustache,  of  the  reddish-yellow 


198   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

tint  of  his  hair,  was  long  and  silky  ;  but  the  growth  about 
the  lower  part  of  his  face  was  in  that  unbecoming  stage 
known  as  "  turning  out  a  beard."  His  attire  was  different 
from  that  of  the  men  of  the  region,  although  it  vied  with 
theirs  in  its  simplicity.  He  wore  blue  flannel  trousers,  with 
long  rubber  boots  drawn  to  the  knees,  and  a  blue  flannel 
shirt.  He  was  singularly  trim  and  light  despite  the  sugges 
tions  of  sinew  and  strength  about  him,  and  he  had  long,  soft 
white  hands.  She  noted  their  deft  certainty  of  touch  as  he 
took  the  little  black  medicine-chest  to  the  table  and  opened 
it  slowly,  showing  its  rows  of  tiny  vials,  on  which  Mrs.  Strobe 
and  Isabel  gazed  with  dilated  eyes. 

He  was  not  slow  when  he  had  selected  what  he  wanted  : 
he  crossed  the  room  with  a  quick,  sure  step,  and  laid  his 
hand  upon  his  patient's  arm. 

"  Come,  Jake,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice  to  Baintree  ;  and 
as  the  mountaineer  slouched  heavily  across  the  floor,  Mar- 
cella  sank  into  a  chair,  putting  her  hands  over  her  eyes  that 
she  might  not  see  the  doughty  Eli  Strobe  overpowered  in 
this  painfully  unequal  struggle. 

She  could  not  have  believed  that  it  would  be  so  soon  over. 
A  succession  of  hoarse  screams ;  the  sound  of  ineffectual, 
ill-aimed  blows  ;  the  dragging  of  heavy  feet  across  the  pun 
cheons  ;  wild,  half -articulate  curses,  growing  now  disjointed 
and  again  only  a  broken  word,  subsiding  at  last  to  a  drowsy 
mutter,  and  Eli  Strobe  was  silent  and  asleep. 

The  stillness  seemed  to  Marcella  sinister.  She  lifted  her 
head  slowly,  and  gazed  fearfully  up.  The  two  men  had 
placed  the  insensible  constable  on  the  bed.  The  stranger 
was  flushed  with  exertion,  his  lips  parted  in  a  triumphant 
smile,  showing  his  strong  white  shining  teeth  beneath  his 
yellow  mustache.  He  wiped  his  brow  with  a  white  hand 
kerchief  ;  the  same  office  was  performed  by  Jake  Baintree 
with  his  handy  coat-sleeve. 

"  Whew-w  !  "  the  mountaineer  commented.  "  Eli  be  ez 
survigrous  ez  a  yoke  o'  steers." 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.   199 

"  "Waal,  sir !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Strobe,  with  a  deep  sigh 
of  relief  and  content,  the  sparkle  again  in  her  little  bird-like 
eye,  the  parchment-like  tint  of  her  visage  disappearing  under 
a  flush  of  pleasure.  "  Did  enny  mortal  ever  see  ennythin' 
done  like  that !  I  'd  like  ter  hev  some  o'  that  thar  stuff, 
doctor,"  she  declared.  u  Ye  mought  leave  we-uns  a  bottle." 

The  powerful  odor  of  a  strange  drug  was  diffused  through 
the  room,  and  the  physician  turned  and  placed  the  door  a 
trifle  ajar  before  he  approached  the  fire,  where  Jake  Bain- 
tree  was  already  seated. 

"  Set  down,  doctor,  —  set  down,  doctor,"  said  Mrs.  Strobe, 
pushing  a  chair  toward  him.  u  Yes,  sir,  I  'd  like  ter  hev 
a  bottle.  What  a  thing  that  physic  would  be  fur  fractious 
chil'n  !  —  put  'em  ter  sleep  off  thar  meanness.  I  never  hed 
but  one  chile,  —  that  thar  big  buffalo,  Eli,  thar."  She  had 
resumed  her  wonted  note  toward  her  son,  now  that  he  had 
relapsed  into  his  old  familiar  self,  lacking  the  dreadful  dig 
nity  of  one  about  to  be  summoned  to  a  new  and  untried 
world,  and  no  longer  exciting  the  painful  tenderness  and 
prescient  grief  that  hang  upon  a  possible  loss.  "  But  I  hev 
seen  him  a  many  a  time  whenst  it  would  hev  brung  a  heap 
o'  peace  in  the  house  ef  he  could  hev  been  put  ter  sleep  that- 
a-way,  in  the  midst  o'  his  tantrums.  Can't  ye  leave  a  bottle 
o'  it,  doctor?" 

Isabel  looked  up  apprehensively,  thinking  herself  the  pos 
sible  candidate  for  this  new  and  unique  method  of  discipline. 

But  the  stranger  said  he  had  none  to  spare  for  the  sub 
jugation  of  domestic  insurgents,  and  no  more  than  he  needed 
himself;  and  although  Marcella  observed  that,  as  he  put 
the  bottle  into  its  groove  in  the  case  and  shut  the  lid  with  a 
snap,  his  face  wore  a  smile  of  relish  or  of  ridicule,  she  did 
not  resent  it,  so  grateful  was  she,  so  ready  to  fall  at  his  feet. 
Still,  terrors  beset  her  ;  it  seemed  too  good  to  be  true. 

"  He  ain't  dead,  doctor  ?  "  she  asked,  in  a  tone  of  expos 
tulation,  glancing  at  the  motionless  figure  on  the  bed. 

"  Not  at  all,"  he  rejoined,  showing  his  fine  teeth. 


200       THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE. 

"  Shet  up,  Marcelly  ;  ye  hev  got  no  sense,"  urged  her 
grandmother ;  for  the  natty  Mrs.  Strobe  was  all  herself 
again.  "  Set  down,  doctor,  an'  rest  yer  bones.  Won't  ye 
hev  a  toddy  ter  sorter  hearten  ye  up?  I  hev  got  some 
apple-jack  hyar  strong  enough  ter  climb  a  tree.  Jake," 
she  continued,  turning  toward  Baintree,  "  jes'  ketch  a-holt 
o'  the  handle  o'  that  thar  jimmy-john  in  the  corner,  an'  haul 
it  hyar.  I  'd  ax  Marcelly,  'ceptin'  she  looks  'bout  broke  in 
two ;  an'  I  'd  git  it  myself,  'ceptin'  the  jimmy-john  's  too 
nijh  my  size." 

The  apology  was  needless,  for  Jake  Baintree  seemed 
complimented  to  be  permitted  to  make  himself  useful,  and 
brought  out  the  demijohn  with  much  glad  alacrity.  Mar- 
cella  marveled  in  self-reproachful  dismay  that  she  should 
have  such  strange  thoughts,  but  as  Jake  Baintree  poured 
the  fluid  into  a  glass  she  noted  how  sinewy  and  thin  his 
hands  were,  and  white  as  the  doctor's  own,  —  so  long  had 
they  been  idle  and  listless  in  jail ;  and  she  wondered  with 
which  of  them  he  had  killed  Samuel  Keale,  —  with  both, 
perchance,  —  and  if  handcuffs  had  been  put  on  those  long, 
bony  wrists  while  he  languished  in  prison.  And  when  he 
offered  her  a  glass,  she  shuddered  and  drew  back,  and 
shook  her  head  without  a  word.  Mrs.  Strobe  also  declined 
to  join  in  the  potations.  "  Sperits  air  all  well  enough  fur 
men,"  she  observed,  —  "  they  hev  got  so  little  sense  enny- 
how,  it  don't  matter  ef  they  gits  foolisher  'n  nat'ral  wunst 
in  a  while  ;  but  ef  the  Lord  '11  spare  my  reason,  I  '11  onder- 
takc  ter  holp  him." 

As  the  stranger  sat  drinking  the  athletic  apple-jack  so 
graphically  described  by  Mrs.  Strobe,  he  seemed  less  reluc 
tant,  less  doubtful,  than  before.  He  said  almost  nothing, 
however,  leaving  the  conversation  to  Jake  Baintree,  watch 
ing  him  with  interest,  and  in  the  intervals  of  silence  medi 
tatively  eying  the  smouldering  fire.  He  had  the  air  of 
holding  himself  in  abeyance,  and  quietly  awaiting  develop 
ments.  He  seemed  to  indorse  all  that  Baintree  said,  who 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       201 

talked  eagerly,  and  was  by  no  means  averse  to  giving  an  ac 
count  of  his  friend. 

u  I  war  powerful  glad  Marcelly  met  up  with  we-uns,  Mis' 
Strobe,"  he  said,  as  he  sat  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  fire, 
his  elbows  on  his  knees,  his  hat  pushed  back  on  his  sleek 
black  hair,  his  eyes  seeming  hardly  so  crafty  and  bright 
since  they  betokened  such  kindliness,  that  Marcella  was  re 
minded  anew  of  his  gratitude  to  her  father  for  the  logical 
stand  as  to  his  innocence  which  the  constable  had  taken 
after  his  acquittal.  "  I  never  war  so  glad  ez  I  hed  this 
hyar  doctor-man  visitin'  me."  The  stranger  always  had 
that  covert  smile,  barely  to  be  detected,  on  his  face,  when 
he  was  thus  designated  ;  but  he  raised  the  glass  to  his  lips, 
and,  except  by  Marcella,  it  was  not  noticed.  "  He  phys 
icked  me  whenst  I  war  sick  in  jail,  an'  I  knowed  he  war  a 
powerful  survigrous  man  ter  hev  around  whenst  folks  air 
ailinY' 

Mrs.  Strobe  was  gracious  enough  to  refrain  from  contro 
verting  this  proposition.  As  she  sat  in  the  chimney-corner, 
with  her  tiny  feet  perched  upon  the  rung  of  the  chair,  she 
looked  discerningly,  and  withal  approvingly,  at  the  stranger, 
while  Jake  Baintree  continued  his  queer  introductory  dis 
course.  Nevertheless,  she  wondered  why  they  did  not  fin 
ish  drinking  their  liquor  and  go,  for  the  hour  was  wear 
ing  close  to  the  dawn,  and,  wiry  and  sturdy  as  she  was,  she  • 
began  to  feel  the  effects  of  her  vigil  and  excitement.  Her 
gratitude,  however,  kept  her  awake,  and  curiosity  had  a 
stimulating  influence.  She  wondered,  too,  how  the  ostra 
cized  Jake  Baintree  had  so  very  capable  a  u  doctor-man  "  at 
his  disposal. 

u  The  old  doctors,  they  'low  they  know  everything  in 
creation,  but  they  dorit"  Baintree  said,  voicing  a  most 
mundane  sentiment. 

Mrs.  Strobe  nodded  her  head  in  unabashed  acquiescence, 
despite  the  destroyed  powders,  the  futile  "  yerb  tea,"  and 
the  subsequent  delirium,  —  so  transitory  are  the  effects  even 


202   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

of  the  lessons  of  experience,  the  best  of  all  teachers  though 
it  be.  Man  may  be  denned  as  the  animal  who  will  not 
learn. 

"  But  folks  hev  ter  find  that  out  fur  thai-selves,"  con 
tinued  the  wily  Bain  tree,  "  so  he  hed  nuthin'  ter  do,  sca'ce- 
ly,  down  thar  in  Glaston.  Folks  ginerally  'low  they  don't 
want  a  young  doctor  1'arnin'  on  them." 

"  Yes,  better  take  keer  of  yer  lungs,  an'  yer  liver,  an'  yer 
stomick.  No  gittin'  enny  new  ones,"  Mrs.  Strobe  agreed 
unexpectedly. 

Jake  Baintree  seemed  to  lose  his  balance  at  this  for  a 
moment,  then  plunged  on  resolutely :  u  So  hevin'  nuthin' 
ter  do  thar,  he  kem  up  hyar  ter  see  me." 

Notwithstanding  his  incidental  air,  Mrs.  Strobe  began 
to  perceive  that  he  was  definitely  driving  at  something,  and 
he  was  clever  enough  to  detect  this  in  her  sharp  eyes,  as  she 
fixed  them  with  renewed  wonderment  upon  him.  He  went 
directly  to  the  point,  with  an  air  of  great  candor :  "  Fac'  is, 
Mis'  Strobe,  he  don't  want  folks  ginerally  ter  know  he  be 
liyarabouts.  Nobody  would  hev  knowed  it,  nohow,  ef  he 
lied  n't  kem  out  ter  do  you-uns  a  favior.  Clem  Sanders 
would  fairly  brain  us  with  that  big  sledge  o'  his'n,  ef  he 
knew  we  'd  been  foolin'  with  his  forge.  He 's  a  power 
ful  survigrous  man,  an'  he  would  n't  think  nuthin'  o1  ham- 
merin'  us  up  on  the  anvil,  an'  drawin'  us  down  fine.  So 
him  an'  me  too  would  be  obleeged  ter  ye  you-uns  "  —  he 
included  Marcella  and  Isabel  in  his  glance  —  "  would  n't 
say  nuthin'  'bout  seem'  him.  It 's  his  bizness,  an'  nobody 
else's." 

The  stranger  bore  with  an  admirable  calmness  the  stare 
of  amazement  which  Mrs.  Strobe  and  Isabel  fixed  upon 
him.  Marcella,  who  had  seen  him  wielding  the  hammer  at 
the  forge,  felt  her  capacity  for  surprise  blunted.  She  was 
prepared  to  hear  anything.  Mrs.  Strobe's  lower  jaw  dropped 
a  little  in  dismay.  She  was  sufficiently  sophisticated  to  know 
that  a  physician  might  have  slain  his  fellow-men  in  the  regu- 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       203 

lar  course  of  business  without  finding  it  desirable  to  seclude 
himself  in  the  mountains  with  the  ostracized  Baintree.  Her 
inevitable  conclusion  was  quickly  reached,  —  it  was  not  in 
the  regular  course  of  business ;  he  was,  doubtless,  a  fugitive 
from  the  law,  hiding  in  the  wilderness  from  the  officers  of 
justice.  So  simple  a  solution  of  the  mystery  was  it  that 
it  had  also  forced  itself  irresistibly  on  both  Marcella  and 
Isabel,  who  gazed  upon  him  with  mingled  pity,  and  awe, 
and  repugnance.  His  hazel  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  fire, 
and  now  and  again  he  lifted  the  glass  of  apple-jack  to  his 
lips. 

Despite  the  definiteness  of  Mrs.  Strobe's  convictions  in 
general,  when  an  emergency  or  perplexity  supervened,  she 
was  less  ready  to  reach  a  decision  than  her  granddaughter. 

"  We  ain't  got  no  call  ter  tell,  sure,"  said  Marcella. 
"  Dad  would  hev  been  dead  ef  he  hed  n't  kem  ter  holp  us." 

u  He  would  I  "  echoed  Isabel. 

"  Yes,  sir  !  We  hev  got  Eli  agin,  some  sim'lar  ter  what 
he  useter  was,"  said  the  old  woman,  recovering  herself  in 
her  recollection  of  her  ascendency  over  her  big  son.  "  An' 
what  war  ye  a-doin'  of  in  the  forge  ?  "  she  demanded,  turn 
ing  her  lively  eye  on  Baintree. 

He  looked  down  into  his  glass  and  shook  it  gently,  watch 
ing  the  amber  and  ruby  light  of  the  fire  as  it  struck  through 
the  liquor.  He  made  no  pretense  of  consultation  with  his 
friend  ;  he  answered  for  him  :  — 

"  Waal,  I  'd  ez  soon  tell  ye  ez  not,  Mis'  Strobe."  He 
grinned  significantly  as  he  nodded  at  the  physician,  who  had 
chanced  to  glance  at  the  bed  where  his  patient  lay.  The 
demonstration  said  as  plainly  as  if  he  had  spoken,  "  Some 
day  when  lie  is  away,  I  will  tell  you  all." 

The  old  woman  nodded  her  acquiescence  and  comprehen 
sion,  and  as  the  stranger  abruptly  turned  his  head  he  came 
very  near  surprising  them  at  this  telegraphy.  Mrs.  Strobe 
spoke  precipitately  to  cover  her  confusion  :  — 

"  I  '11  be  powerful  pleased,  the  Lord  knows,  not  ter  tell 


204       THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOM  SEDGE   COVE. 

nuthin'.  I  be  a  mighty  partic'lar  woman  with  my  words. 
Folks  hev  got  ter  be,  ef  thar  kin  hev  dealin's  in  politics. 
Mos'ly  ef  ye  tell  the  truth  ye  '11  prosper,  but  them  in  pol'- 
tics  air  ez  'feard  o'  the  truth  ez  a  toper  o'  cold  water.  Jes' 
gin  'em  the  fac's,  an'  they  '11  see  snakes  !  Ye  need  n't  be 
'feard  I  '11  tell  the  truth,  stranger,"  — that  sly,  superficially 
grave  look  on  her  thin  lips.  "  I  hev  seen  too  much  mis'ry 
kem  from  sech  practices." 

But  the  stranger  seemed  embarrassed  and  slightly  ill  at 
ease,  and  glanced  doubtfully  at  Jake  Baintree,  who  drained 
the  last  drop  in  his  glass.  As  he  held  it,  empty,  still  lean 
ing  forward,  he  gazed  propitiatingly  at  her,  as  she  sat  shak 
ing  with  her  silent  chuckle. 

"  Ye  're  funnin',  ain't  ye,  Mis'  Strobe  ?  " 

"  Ye  want  me  ter  tell  the  truth,  then,  Jake  ?  Waal,  it 's 
a  mighty  tough  strain,  but  I  '11  try." 

Baintree  had  risen  ;  he  stood  swinging  his  hat  in  his  hand, 
and  laughing,  with  an  effort  at  geniality. 

"  Naw,  Mis'  Strobe ;  we-uns  don't  want  ye  an'  the  gals 
ter  say  nuthin',  —  that  '11  be  ez  big  a  f  avior  ter  we-uns  ez 
this  hyar  doctor-man  done  yoa-uns." 

"  We-uns  ain't  a-goin'  ter  tell  nuthin',"  said  Marcella, 
taking  the  initiative  once  more. 

"Naw,  we  ain't,"  echoed  Isabel. 

"  We  ain't  likely  ter  resk  en  ny thin'  we  ain't  used  ter, 
like  tellin'  the  truth,"  said  Mrs.  Strobe  waggishly. 

Baintree  rather  sheepishly  continued  to  swing  his  hat ; 
then,  as  he  glanced  toward  the  door,  still  half  ajar,  "  It 's 
day !  "  he  said. 

The  puncheon  floor  of  the  uninclosed  passage  without 
showed  in  a  timorous,  colorless  medium,  too  neutral  to 
express  the  idea  of  light,  too  null  for  darkness.  The  old 
dog  passed  by,  distinctly  visible,  stretching  his  limbs  and 
yawning,  as  he  looked  casually  into  the  room  ;  then  went 
off,  wagging  his  tail  slightly,  as  if  pleased  in  the  main  to  be 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       205 

reminded  of  his  friends  within.  As  the  two  men  came  out 
together,  slowly,  followed  by  the  family,  they  paused  to  ob 
serve  the  traces  of  the  storm,  the  dripping,  moisture-laden 
aspect  of  tree  and  vine  and  wall,  the  dank,  lieav\r  air,  the 
pallid  ranks  of  the  corn,  here  and  there  beaten  down  to  the 
ground.  A  bird's-nest,  long  ago  empty,  the  sport  of  the 
winds,  was  lying  upon  the  porch.  Marcella  picked  up  the 
frail  and  fibrous  thing,  suggestive  of  fleeting  song,  and 
transitory  love,  and  lapsing  summer.  The  young  stranger 
had  fixed  a  speculative  gaze  upon  her,  as  she  leaned  against 
the  vine-draped  post,  her  hair  dry  again  and  freshly  curl 
ing,  the  dull  fringes  of  her  red  shawl  against  the  warm 
whiteness  of  her  neck,  her  long  lashes  pensively  veiling 
her  downcast  eyes.  He  mechanically  threw  his  waterproof 
coat  over  cue  arm,  as  he  stood,  and  with  the  other  hand  he 
meditatively  turned  the  end  of  his  long  yellow  mustache, 
unheeding  Jake  Baintree,  who  was  remarkimg,  "  I  '11  be 
bound,  Mis'  Strobe,  tliar  's  a  heap  o'  timber  down  in  the 
woods."  The  mountaineer  glanced  away  at  the  opaque 
densities  of  the  mists  that  filled  the  valleys,  and  rose  to  the 
mountain-tops,  and  hung  about  the  little  cabin,  and  had  a 
drearier  pallor  than  the  gray  sky,  where,  indeed,  once  or 
twice  a  glittering  point  betokened  a  fading  star  in  the  rifts 
of  the  clouds.  Then  the  two  men  went  down  the  steps  and 
through  the  gate,  and  they  and  their  horses  were  lost  to 
sight  in  the  vapors  before  they  reached  the  turn-row. 

Mrs.  Strobe  and  Isabel  stood  and  stared  at  the  point 
where  they  had  vanished,  until  they  could  no  longer  hear 
the  regular  hoof-beats,  growing  ever  fainter  and  fainter  ;  but 
Marcella  still  turned  the  relic  of  the  spring  weavings  in  her 
hand,  and  took  pensive  note  of  the  autumn  in  its  riddled 
and  void  meshes. 

Isabel  spoke  first. 

"  That  thar  stranger  air  the  curiousest  man  of  all  the 
men  ez  hev  ever  been  ter  this  house,"  she  observed  oracu- 


206   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

larly,  as  if  she  were  a  competent  judge  of  "  curiousness," 
and  a  connoisseur  in  human  bric-a-brac. 

Her  grandmother  chuckled. 

"  An'  that 's  a  bold  sayin',"  commented  the  little  old 
cynic. 


XII. 

THE  mists  continued  to  press  close  about  the  little  cabin. 
The  sunless  day  hardly  gave  evidence  how  it  was  wearing 
on,  so  imperceptibly  did  the  shadows  grow  less  gray.  Some 
movement  there  was  in  the  dense  folds  of  the  opaque  vapors, 
for  now  even  the  vines  on  the  porch  were  invisible,  and 
anon  all  their  leaves  were  abnormally  definite  on  the  blank 
white  surface  of  the  background.  A  continuous  drip  sounded 
from  the  eaves,  but  otherwise  the  world  seemed  strangely 
silent,  until  the  mincing  footfalls  of  a  pacing  nag  came  dull 
and  muffled  along  the  dank  turn-row,  and  announced  to 
Mrs.  Strobe  the  approach  of  old  Dr.  Boyce. 

"  Now,  ain't  it  a  blessin',"  she  observed  to  her  grand 
daughters,  "ez  that  thar  perverse  old  man  never  tuk  it  inter 
that  head  o'  his'n  —  an'  it 's  full  o'  notions  —  ter  kem  no 
earlier.  He  mought  hev  met  the  t'  other  feller,  an'  thar 's 
nuthin'  in  this  worl'  one  doctor  hates  like  another  one.  An' 
ef  't  war  n't  fur  the  law  ez  keeps  'em  off'n  one  another, 
thar  'd  be  mo'  scatterin'  o'  brains,  an'  hair,  an'  bones  round 
graveyards  'n  thar  be  now.  Ef  ye  want  ter  see  one  o'  'em 
take  a  fit,  jes'  let  him  know  some  other  doctor  hev  been 
meddlin'  with  his  patient,  ez  he  calls  it.  A  mighty  good 
word  fur  it,  too.  Patient  he  air,  —  the  feller  hev  got  ter 
learn  patience,  sure !  This  hyar  old  man  can't  abide  it,  ef 
he  ain't  allowed  ter  pizen  folks  his  own  way  ;  an'  ef  ye  don't 
foller  his  directions  edzac'ly,  he  11  gin  the  case  up.  An' 
then  ye  mought  git  well,  stiddier  dyin'  respectably,  'cordin' 
ter  the  doctor's  prescriptions." 

She  rose,  with  her  speciously  grave  expression  puckering 
her  thin  lips,  and  went  to  meet  him  on  the  porch,  as  he 


208   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

came  up  the  path,  with  his  saddle-bags  over  his  arm.  "  Good- 
mornin',  doctor,"  she  observed,  with  great  suavity. 

"  Good-morning,  madam,"  he  said  with  a  cheerful  note. 
He  was  propitiated  by  a  certain  up-all-night  aspect  in  the 
three  feminine  members  of  the  household,  which  his  discern 
ing  eye  could  well  distinguish  from  the  activity  of  the  habit 
ual  early  riser.  It  implied  due  anxiety  and  attention  to  any 
possible  or  probable  want  of  his  patient.  He  had  scant  in 
terest  in  people  whose  lungs,  liver,  heart,  and  stomach  were 
in  a  normal  condition.  They  were  merely  unindividualized 
cumberers  of  the  ground,  except  as  they  ministered  to  that 
genus  whom  he  sought  to  exalt  into  a  tyrant  of  absolute 
sway,  his  patient.  He  himself  bowed  down  before  it  with 
an  unswerving  devotion  and  an  unchanging  assiduity,  despite 
its  protean  aspect,  whether  it  were  only  two  feet  long,  and 
writhing  with  the  colic,  or  as  big  as  Eli  Strobe,  with  a  digni 
fied  fracture  of  the  skull ;  and  he  saw  to  it  that  every  possi 
ble  knee  was  also  crooked  in  subservience.  It  was  a  favorite 
formula  with  him,  "  If  my  patient  can't  sleep,  not  a  soul  in 
the  house  shall  bat  an  eye  all  night."  And  thus  there  were 
always  powders  or  drops  to  be  administered  with  appalling 
frequency,  if  the  sufferer  should  chance  to  awake. 

Therefore  he  looked  with  approving  eyes  at  Mrs.  Strobe, 
and  dismissed  as  gratuitous  certain  anxieties  that  had  har 
assed  him  since  parting  from  her  yesterday,  because  of  her 
earnest  advocacy  of  "  yerb  tea,"  and  her  evident  reluctance 
to  defer  to  his  judgment. 

"  How  's  my  patient,  madam  ?  "  he  asked,  as  he  lumbered 
up  the  steps. 

He  was  not,  properly  speaking,  a  fat  man  ;  he  might  bet 
ter  be  described  as  merely  ample.  He  was  not  muscular  ; 
he  seemed  flabbily  large.  His  face  had  sundry  deep  dim 
ples,  visible  even  when  not  smiling,  and  he  had  a  fair,  fresh 
complexion,  and  was  close-shaven.  He  was  perhaps  some 
sixty  years  old,  and  he  was  ostentatious  in  the  use  of  his 
spectacles,  after  the  manner  of  one  who  regards  age  as  a 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.   209 

sort  of  gradual  promotion.  He  was  quite  bald,  and  wore 
a  dark  wig,  or  what  is  known  as  a  "  scratch."  It  hardly 
served  any  purpose  of  deception,  for  often  he  thrust  it  far 
back  on  his  head,  showing  his  broad,  full-fronted  brow ;  and 
sometimes,  in  his  office,  on  a  warm  day,  he  hung  it  on  the 
door-knob  or  the  back  of  a  chair,  contracting  thereby  many 
an  influenza  and  neuralgia,  which  he  would  have  considered 
of  serious  interest  had  it  been  the  choice  possession  of  one 
of  his  patients. 

"•Not  awake  yet?  "  he  said,  glancing  at  the  pillow  as  he 
entered.  He  sat  down  beside  the  bed,  and,  motioning  to 
Marcella  to  open  the  shutter,  he  adjusted  his  spectacles,  and 
bent  forward  to  scrutinize  the  sleeping  face. 

Mrs.  Strobe,  secretly  scornful  as  she  watched  him,  was 
amazed  to  see  him  draw  back,  with  an  expression  of  doubt 
ing  surprise,  and  with  his  soft,  deft  fingers  feel  the  pulse  of 
the  wounded  man.  His  eyes  with  a  suspicious  gleam  sought 
hers. 

"  How  did  he  spend  the  night  ?  "  he  asked  curtly. 

"  Waal,"  cautiously  admitted  Mrs.  Strobe,  "  the  fust  o' 
the  night  he  war  sorter  rampagious.  Arter  that  he  slept." 

The  doctor  rose  slowly,  looking  very  large  and  limp  as 
he  stood  solemnly  confronting  the  little  dame.  "  Mrs. 
Strobe,"  he  demanded,  "  what  was  done  to  this  man  ?  " 

;'  Why,  law,  doctor,  you-uns  know  !  "  she  cried.  "  Teck 
Jepson  jes'  rid  him  down,  an'  bust  his  head  open,  an'  "  — 

"  Woman,"  he  thundered,  "  this  man  has  been  drugged  !  " 

Mrs.  Strobe  quailed.  She  would  not  have  believed  the 
discovery  possible  to  his  vaunted  science. 

"  Jes'  a  leetle  verb  tea,"  she  faltered. 

He  stared  at  her,  baffled,  and  doubting  if  it  were  possible 
to  elicit  the  truth  from  her.  He  knitted  his  bare  brows, 
for  his  wig  was  far  back  on  his  bald  poll.  The  mystery  of 
it  all  stemmed  for  the  time  the  rising  tide  of  his  tumultuous 
indignation.  "  Why  did  n't  you  give  him  the  powders  I 
left,  as  directed  ?  "  he  demanded. 


210   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

"Law,  doctor,  they  couldn't  make  no  diff'unce, — that 
thar  leetle  trash  stuff." 

The  doctor's  bald  head  flushed  to  the  nape  of  his  neck. 
Despite  his  scanty  consideration  of  people  who  were  in  the 
enjoyment  of  full  health,  he  could  not  strike  Mrs.  Strohe. 
There  was  only  one  course  open  to  him,  professionally  speak 
ing. 

"  I  give  up  the  case.  I  will  not  be  responsible,"  he  sput 
tered,  stooping  down  to  pick  up  his  saddle-bags.  Suddenly 
he  caught  sight  of  the  wan,  haggard,  sleeping  face  on  the 
pillow,  and  the  loyalty  of  a  whole  life  flamed  up  anew  to 
ward  its  object.  "  No,  I  won't,  —  I  won't,  neither  !  I 
won't  leave  my  patient  to  be  murdered  amongst  you.  Yes, 
murdered !  "  he  vociferated  ;  "  for  if  my  directions  and  my 
medicines  are  tampered  with  again,  and  my  patient  dies, 
I  '11  have  you  every  one  indicted  for  murder  ;  you  hear  me, 
—  for  murder  !  Poisoning  my  patient !  "  He  wagged  his 
half-draped  head  with  a  knowing  look.  He  had  not  lived 
in  this  world  so  long  as  not  to  be  aware  of  the  terror  that 
the  ignorant  have  of  that  unknown,  unmeasured  force,  the 
law.  Even  the  doughty  Mrs.  Strobe  seemed  very  small 
and  wizened,  as  she  contemplated  the  prospect.  He  fol 
lowed  up  his  advantage:  "Come  here!"  —  he  turned  to 
Marcella;  "you  look  like  you  have  some  sense.  I'll  leave 
my  directions  with  you,  and  you  see  you  carry  them  out. 
Do  just  as  I  say.  Think  I  won't  know  it  if  you  don't,  as 
soon  as  I  get  here  ?  " 

"  Mighty  apt,  sure,"  Mrs.  Strobe  conceded,  in  a  concilia 
tory  tone. 

But  the  big  doctor,  who  seemed,  as  he  stood  about,  to 
occupy  more  than  his  share  of  the  little  cabin,  only  gave  a 
snort  of  derisive  rage  at  this  overture,  and  prepared  his 
medicines  in  stern  and  puffing  silence.  He  was  still  breath 
less  when  he  gathered  up  his  saddle-bags  and  started  toward 
the  door.  He  came  back,  and  looked  in  again  to  say,  with 
a  threatening  air,  when  he  would  repeat  his  visit ;  and  they 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.   "211 

presently  heard  the  ambling  hoof-beats  of  his  horse  that  took 
him  up  the  turn-row,  and  so  away. 

It  might  seem  that  Mrs.  Strobe  could  not  easily  recover 
from  the  stress  of  this  interview,  but  her  elasticity  was  al 
together  unstrained,  and  she  rebounded  from  her  humiliat 
ing  detection  with  the  alert  grace  of  one  who,  from  good 
nature,  ignores  a  defiance,  having"  ample  resources  at  call. 

"  Gin  up  the  case  !  "  she  cried  scornfully.  "  An'  what  do 
we-uns  keer,  with  a  doctor-man  o'  our  own,  what  Jake  Bain- 
tree  fetched !  I  hed  a  great  mind  ter  tell  ?bout'n  him,  an* 
how  peart  he  war,  but  I  war  'feard  o'  hurtin'  the  old  man's 
feelin's.  Murderin'  Eli,  —  I  say  !  I  war  so  mad  wunst  I 
hed  a  great  mind  ter  throttle  the  old  man  ;  "  which  the  doc 
tor  would  have  esteemed  a  terrible  intention  in  a  woman  of 
Mrs.  Strobe's  size,  had  he  known  she  entertained  it.  "  But 
how  did  he  find  out  Eli  hed  tuk  the  t'other  doctor's  medi 
cine  ?  I  tell  ye,  now,  Marcelly,  that  thar  old  man  hev  got 
eyes  in  the  back  o'  his  head,  an'  kin  see  fourteen  mile  off 
through  a  thunder-storm  in  the  night-time  'thout  strainin' 
his  sight." 

Mrs.  Strobe  affected  to  hope  that  he  would  continue  an 
gry,  and  fail  to  keep  his  engagement ;  but  her  relief  was 
very  patent  when  he  reappeared  with  his  saddle-bags  the 
next  day,  and  the  next,  and  still  again.  He  took  little  note 
of  her  except  to  treat  her  remarks  with  a  sedulous  show  of 
unconcern.  He  asked  Marcella  keen  and  searching  ques 
tions  as  to  his  patient  during  his  absence,  and  strained  to 
the  uttermost  their  every  capacity  and  all  the  resources  of 
the  little  cabin  to  subserve  the  invalid's  comfort.  All  was 
ungrudgingly  and  submissively  accorded,  but,  nevertheless, 
he  began  to  look  very  grave  as  the  days  wore  on,  and  now 
and  then  he  solemnly  shook  his  bald  head. 

"  What  makes  him  shake  his  head  that-a-way,  Marcelly  ?  " 
the  old  woman  demanded.  "  Ter  make  sure  thar  's  nuthin* 
in  it  ?  He  need  n't  look  so  disapp  inted.  I  could  hev  tole 
him  ez  much  ez  that,  an'  kep'  him  from  expectin'  ter  hear 
it  rattle." 


212   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

Outside  the  world  took  its  way,  unheeding,  down  the  oft- 
trodden  course  of  the  year.  The  dank  mists  clung  long  to 
range  and  valley.  They  lifted  at  last,  and  then  the  tor- 
reiits  of  the  recent  storm  seemed  to  have  heen  charged  with 
pigments,  for  bold  dashes  of  color,  of  red,  of  a  luminous 
yellow,  accented  yet  tempered  by  intervals  of  purplish  and 
bronze  intimations,  emblazoned  the  mountain-side,  where  a 
monotony  of  summer  greenth  had  lately  held  sway.  The 
sun,  coming  again  with  a  fluctuating  brilliancy,  with  far- 
reaching  misty  refractions,  and  anon  diaphanous  veilings,  to 
displace  the  surly  usurpations  of  the  grimmer  gray  elements, 
found  a  responsive  glow  in  the  sudden  enrichment  of  the 
world.  The  far-away  ranges  had  acquired  a  new  charm  of 
azure,  an  exquisitely  pure  tone,  but  of  a  dull,  unglossy  soft 
ness,  all  unlike  the  enameled  blue  of  the  great  crystalline 
sky.  The  air  was  pervaded  by  a  fine  aroma.  The  wind 
had  wings  :  one  could  sometimes  see  the  shadows  of  these 
subtle,  swift  invisibilities  flutter  in  the  cloudless  sunshine, 
so  vaguely  that  before  a  glance  might  seek  to  measure  an 
airy  pinion  the  fleet  thing  was  gone.  Enchantment  boldly 
wandered  forth  into  the  broad  daylight,  and  all  lavish  splen 
dors  were  vagrant.  In  every  fence  corner,  the  lush  grasses 
and  weeds,  heavy  with  seeds,  were  bepainted  -with  a  brush 
full  of  color,  —  amber,  and  brown,  and  red  ;  even  the  cob 
webs,  gossamer  and  silver  in  the  sun,  hung  from  rail  to  rail 
upon  the  old  fences,  and  bedizened  their  gaunt  homeliness 
with  a  delicate  fibrous  grace.  Oh,  gone  was  the  summer, 
and  it  would  come  no  more,  however  the  recurrent  season 
might  wear  its  similitude.  Marcella  was  living  her  life  out ; 
she  was  not  the  light-hearted  creature  that  the  spring  had 
found,  her.  She  felt  that  she  was  older  by  many  summers, 
and  she  did  not  need  Andy  Longwood  to  tell  her  so. 

"  Ye  hev  got  ter  be  ez  solemn  ez  —  I  dunno  what  all. 
An'  ye  used  ter  laff,  an'  laff,  an'  laff.  Now  ye  can't  crack 
a  joke  ter  save  yer  life.  An'  ef  ennybody  else  gits  ter 
funnin',  ye  don't  pay  no  'tention  ter  what  they  say." 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       213 

The  young  fellow  sat,  as  was  his  wont  in  his  frequent 
visits,  on  the  step  of  the  porch,  his  head,  with  its  tousled 
curls  and  its  big  hat,  leaning  back  against  the  post  and  the 
thinning  yellow  vines.  His  expression  was  slightly  sullen, 
and  implied  a  despondent  appeal,  although  his  muscles  as 
serted  a  cheerful  habit,  altogether  independent  of  his  mind 
and  heart,  and  he  mechanically  laid  a  clasp  knife  upon  one 
closed  fist,  and  with  a  dextrous  twist  of  the  wrist  flung 
it  to  the  ground,  piercing  the  moist  earth  with  its  point, 
after  the  manner  of  the  expert  mumble-the-peg  player. 
Now  and  then  he  looked  up  at  Marcella,  who  sat  spinning, 
spinning,  ceaselessly  at  her  little  flax-wheel,  until  it  seemed 
to  him  —  the  whir  ringing  in  his  ears,  the  sight  of  the  wheel 
whirling  until  it  was  only  a  dazzling  spokeless  circle  —  that 
they  were  his  heartstrings  which  she  was  thus  drawing  out 
into  these  attenuated  threads,  and  that  there  would  not 
be  enough  hope,  or  courage,  or  any  of  the  essential  en 
dowments  left  for  him  to  live  upon  by  the  time  she  had 
wound  these  intimate  fibres  into  balls.  So  forlorn  was  this 
"frequent  visitor." 

"  Ye  don't  never  notice  nobody  nor  nuthin',  nowadays," 
he  said,  a  trifle  hampered  in  his  complaint  by  the  presence 
of  the  wiry  Isabel,  who  sat  at  the  other  end  of  the  step, 
and  of  his  own  dog,  who  looked,  as  he  took  up  his  position 
between  the  two,  intelligent  enough  to  understand  the  con 
versation,  and  independent  enough  to  repeat  it.  "  Got 
nuthin'  ter  say  ter  nobody,  nor  nuthin'." 

He  meant  himself  by  this  negative  description,  and  the 
sharp-eyed  Isabel  understood  as  much.  Despite  her  pre 
cocity  she  had  the  lamentable  lack  of  tact  characteristic  of 
her  age,  and  her  mind  \vas  a  blank  as  to  matters  amatory. 
She  intended  to  be  very  agreeable  when  she  said,  with  a 
toss  of  her  tangled  hair,  "  Marcelly  air  a-gittin'  too  old  fur 
ye  an'  me,  Andy  ;  she  's  jes'  gittin'  mighty  settled  an'  old." 

A  quick  expression  of  apprehension,  even  dismay,  flitted 
across  his  face.  "  What  air  ye  a-talkin'  'bout,  Is'bel  ?  "  he 


214   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

cried,  in  a  loud,  reprehensive  voice.  "I  be  four  year 
older  'n  Marcelly.  '  Gittin'  too  old  fur  ye  an'  me  ' !  "  he 
mimicked  ungraciously.  "  Puttin'  we-uns  tergether,  ez  ef 
we-uns  war  of  an  age,  whenst  I  be  old  enough  ter  be  yer 
gran'dad,  chile  !  "  He  made  another  active  throw  with  the 
knife,  holding  one  ear  with  one  hand,  and  flinging  the  blade 
from  the  other  ear  with  a  marked  dexterity. 

When  he  glanced  up  Isabel  had  risen,  and  waited  to 
catch  his  eye.  "  I  'm  goin'  in  the  house,"  she  remarked, 
with  sour  dignity.  "  I  be  'feard  ye  mought  bite  me." 

He  would  have  been  glad  of  the  riddance  had  it  been 
vouchsafed,  but  it  was  an  empty  threat,  or  rather  promise, 
for  the  little  girl  still  lingered,  leaning  against  a  post  of  the 
porch  ;  nevertheless,  it  served  him  for  another  ground  of 
complaint. 

"  Ye  hev  all  done  got  sot  agin  me  hyar,"  he  said,  "even 
Is'bel.  Ez  ter  Mis'  Strobe,  she  never  war  hurt  with  perlite- 
ness,  nohow ;  leastways  not  ter  me.  An'  you-uns  all  think 
heap  o'  Clem  Sanders,  I  reckon,  don't  ye  ?  "  He  looked  up 
appealingly. 

A  smile  rippled  across  Marcella's  face ;  her  red  lips 
parted.  Had  she  indeed  grown  so  very  old,  after  all  ?  But 
the  alert  Isabel  answered  :  — 

"  I  dunno  what  ye  'low  we-uns  be  so  admirin'  o'  Clem 
fur,  'thout  we  wanted  him  fur  a  ornamint,  like  that  thar 
plaster  rooster  what  dad  brung  granny  from  Colb'ry  ter  set 
on  the  mankle-shelf .  Clem  sets  ez  still  an'  'pears  ez  good- 
lookin'  ez  he  kin,  jes'  like  the  rooster  do.  Both  o'  'em  seem 
like  they  mought  crow  toler'ble  loud  ef  they  would,  but 
nare  one  of  'em  do." 

The  "frequent  visitor"  was  in  a  measure  appeased.  He 
laughed  mightily  at  this  ridicule  of  his  rival,  and  then 
sighed  deeply,  partly  for  relief  and  partly  for  self-pity. 

Isabel  caught  the  approving  expression  in  his  eyes  as  they 
met  hers,  and  she  relented  from  her  intention  of  leaving  the 
young  people  together,  and  once  more  kindly  sat  down  be- 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.        215 

tween  them.  She  seemed,  however,  disposed  to  earn  her  wel 
come,  for  as  she  clasped  her  lithe,  sunburned  hands  over  her 
knees,  and  turned  her  pointed  chin  reflectively  upwards,  and 
cast  a  glance  toward  the  forge,  the  preternatural  wisdom  of 
her  expression  intensified  by  the  two  sharp  eyes  set  so  close 
together,  she  continued  :  "  Las'  time  Clem  kem  a-visitin'," 
—  she  made  no  doubt  it  was  partly  to  see  herself  and  partly 
her  "  granny,"  as  well  as  Marcella,  — "  he  jes'  sot  up  ez 
mum  ez  ye  ever  see  ennybody,  like  he  war  'feard  o'  we- 
uns,"  —  her  lips  curled  in  relish,  —  "  an'  said  '  Yes  'm,'  an' 
'  Ma'am,'  an'  '  Xo  "m\  ter  me,  ez  well  ez  ter  granny  ;  ez  re- 
spec  "ful,  an'  humble,  an'  'feard  o'  me  ez  ef  /  war  eighty 
year  old." 

"  Oh,  ho  !  ho  I  "  laughed  the  merry  "  frequent  visitor." 

"Shet  up,  Is'bel,"  the  elder  sister  mechanically  admon 
ished  her. 

"  'Feard  o'  gals,"  pursued  Isabel,  in  the  pleasing  con 
sciousness  of  making  herself  very  agreeable.  "  An'  he  say 
nuthin'  'ceptin'  ter  agree  with  everybody,  an'  look  so  mild 
an'  meek.  An'  granny,  she  talked,  an'  I  talked  ;  an'  Mar- 
celly,  she  talked  some,  too.  An'  Clem,  he  say,  *  Yes  'm ' 
an'  <Naw  'm.'  An'  he  stayed,  an'  stayed,  an'  stayed,  mighty 
late ;  till  whenst  he  war  a-goin'  away,  granny,  she  say  ter 
him,  'Ye  mus'  kem  agin,  Clem.  Me  an'  the  gals  hev 
mighty  nigh  ez  interestin'  a  time  a-settin'  up  with  ye  ez  ef 
ye  war  a  corpse.  We  11  watch  with  ye  whenst  ye  air  dead, 
Clem.  Ye  need  n't  be  'feard.  We  will  hev  got  so  used 
ter  settin'  alongside  o'  ye  an'  yer  dumb  ways  ez  we  will  be 
plumb  trained  ter  it.  Kem  up  agin  soon,  Clem,  else  we-uns 
will  git  our  hands  out.' " 

It  was  pleasant  to  hear  the  "  frequent  visitor's  "  laughter, 
so  jovial  a  sound  it  was.  And  how  his  heart  warmed  to 
Mrs.  Strobe  ! 

"  Ain't  she  smart,  though  !  My  stars  !  she  's  ez  smart  ez 
enny  man  ! ''  he  exclaimed,  in  the  hyperbole  of  his  enthu 
siasm.  '•  What  did  Clem  say?  " 


216   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOM  SEDGE  COVE. 

"  He  say  '  Yes  'm,'  ''  cried  Isabel,  with  a  jocund  outburst. 
She  was  in  high  feather  because  of  her  success.  Andy 
Longwood  was  far  more  entertaining  to  her  when  he  was 
in  this  hilarious  humor,  instead  of  the  pathetic  sentimental 
moods  which  he  had  of  late  affected.  She  was  evidently 
going  on  to  improve  her  advantage,  when  Marcella  remon 
strated. 

"  I  can't  abide,"  she  said,  "  ter  hear  ennybody  laffed  at 
ahint  thar  backs.  It  don't  'pear  right  ter  me." 

Longwood's  hair  was  tossed  backward,  like  the  mane  of 
an  angry  horse  ;  he  looked  up,  with  a  flushing  cheek.  "  Ye 
mean  ter  say,  Marcelly,  ez  I  be  'feard  ter  laff  at  Clem  San 
ders  ter  his  face  ?  Now  I  ain't,  fur  I  hev  done  it  a  many  a 
time." 

"  An'  me,  too,"  protested  Isabel,  with  arrogant  temerity, 
as  if  this  were  important.  "  I  laffed  at  him  las'  time  he  war 
hyar." 

"  I  ain't  sayin'  ye  war  afeard,  Andy."  Marcella  sought 
to  soothe  his  wounded  feelings.  "  It  jes'  'pears  ter  me  sor 
ter  deceitful." 

"  Shucks  !  "  cried  the  capable  Isabel.  "  Clem  's  power 
ful  deceitful  hisse'f.  So  mealy-mouthed  hyar  ye  'd  think 
he  war  a  lam',  or  jes'  a  mild  deedie  or  suthin'  ;  but  pass  by 
that  thar  forge,  sir,  an'  ye  kin  hear  him  hollerin'  a  mile  off, 
an'  talkin'  like  a  plumb  coffee-mill,  —  elbowin'  an'  jostlin'  the 
men  about,  the  headin'est  one  o'  the  lot !  Tuk  Jube,  the 
pa'son's  son,  one  day,  sir,  an'  put  him  in  a  sack,  an'  with 
all  them  foolish  fellers  a-followin'  he  kerried  sack,  Jube,  an' 
all  down  ter  the  shallow  spread  o'  the  ruver,  an'  flung  him 
in.  But  Clem's  hollerin'  that  time  war  n't  ekal  ter  Jube's 
ez  he  kem  out  the  bag  an'  waded  ashore.  Then  Clem,  he 
kerns  up  hyar  lookin'  like  —  like  pie,  he  's  so  good  an'  desir 
able.  Can't  tell  me  nuthin'  'bout  that  thar  gamesome  Clem, 
an'  I  '11  laff  at  him  all  I  'm  a  mind  ter." 

Andy  Longwood's  variable  spirits  had  again  declined. 
He  was  moodily  appreciative  of  the  fact  that  these  robust 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOM  SEDGE   COVE.       217 

pranks  were  not  subject  for  ridicule  in  the  same  degree  as 
the  burly  blacksmith's  quaking  humility  and  tongue-tied 
meekness  in  the  presence  of  his  lady-love  and  her  feminine 
relations.  The  bluff,  blustery  fun  which  he  relished  was  not 
without  its  fascinations  to  the  boy-lover,  and  induced  an 
emulative  grudging.  He  realized,  too,  the  possibility  that 
Clem's  bold  freedom  among  men  might  contrast  favorably, 
in  Marcella's  estimation,  with  the  solicitous  cowardice  that 
she  alone  could  inspire  in  that  doughty  heart,  and  he  looked 
with  lowering  antagonism  at  Isabel,  as  if  she  had  recited 
some  noble  exploit  of  his  rival's,  calculated  to  put  him  at  a 
disadvantage  and  destroy  his  prospects. 

"  Oh,  yes,  Is'bel,  ye  saw  it,  I  reckon,"  he  sneered,  with 
a  sudden  gust  of  temper.  "  Ye  kin  see  mos'  ennythin',  ef 
ye  be  jes'  willin'  ter  take  half  on  trest.  1 11  be  bound  he 
lied  a  dog  or  suthin'  in  that  sack,  an'  ye  saw  Jube  arterward. 
Clem  could  n't  t  jte  Jube.  Ye  jes'  saw  Jube  wadin'." 

"  Naw,  't  war  jes'  ez  I  say,"  Isabel  hastily  insisted. 

"  Waal,  hev  it  so,  —  hev  it  so."  Longwood  waved  off 
the  discussion.  "  Look  out  right  smart  enny  clear  night, 
an'  ye  '11  see  the  man  in  the  moon  wadin'  down  in  them 
shallows." 

"  Shucks  !  "  said  Isabel,  discarding  the  consideration,  as  it 
were,  of  the  man  in  the  moon,  and  thinking  that  Longwood 
was  disposed  to  talk  to  her  as  if  she  were  a  very  small  child. 

He  sat  quite  silent  then,  the  light  wind  blowing  his  long 
hair  back  amongst  the  sere  and  yellow  vines.  There  was  no 
serenity,  as  of  yore,  in  his  eyes,  and  Marcella  was  moved  to 
vaguely  pity  him.  She  glanced  down  at  him  once  or  twice 
as  she  spun,  and  then  away  to  the  purple  mountains  beyond 
the  hazy  valley,  rich  with  golden  drapings,  tissues  of  the 
sunshine  that  seemed  some  splendid  textile  thing,  so  pal 
pable  was  its  effect.  The  lilac  aster  trembled  in  the  stir 
of  the  wind.  The  wild  turkey  called  from  the  woods.  All 
the  burrs  of  the  great  chestnut  by  the  gate  had  opened  to  the 
summons  of  the  frost,  and  now  and  again  as  the  branches 


218        THE  DESPOT   OF  BROOMSEDGE    COVE. 

shook,  the  glossy  nuts  fell  to  the  roots  of  the  tree.  She 
saw  adown  the  moist,  dank  path  a  garter-snake,  lying,  half 
torpid,  lured  out  by  the  treacherous  sun  and  chilled  by  the 
autumn  blast.  Somewhere  a  cricket  shrilled  and  shrilled. 

k'  Air  the  season  for'ard  over  ter  Chilhowee,  Andy  ?  "  she 
asked. 

"  Dunno.  Don't  keer.  Wisht  Chilhowee  war  leveled 
with  the  ground." 

4t  Dell-law !  "  exclaimed  Isabel,  astonished  by  this  ebulli 
tion  of  perversity,  and  disposed  to  comment  profusely.  Mrs. 
Strobe,  however,  opportunely  called  her  from  within  to  some 
domestic  duty,  and  the  suffering  Longwood  felt  it  a  release. 

"  Marcelly,"  he. said  earnestly,  making  the  most  of  his 
opportunity,  "  ye  an'  me  useter  be  powerful  friendly,  an'  I 
lied  rather  kem  hyar  a-visitin'  than  in  the  courts  o'  heaven. 
An'  ye  useter  laff  an'  be  glad  ter  see  me.  An'  me  an'  ye, 
an'  sometimes  Is'bel,"  —  alas,  how  often  Isabel,  for  all  he 
put  it  thus  politely,  —  "  useter  sit  in  the  orcherd  an'  eat  ap 
ples,  an'  go  fishin',  an'  sometimes  jes'  talk  on  the  porch  ; 
an'  now  all  them  times  air  gone !  " 

"  Ain't  we  talkin'  on  the  porch  now  ?  "  demanded  Mar- 
cella. 

"  Not  like  in  them  days :  ye  sca'cely  notice  now  whether 
I  kem  or  don't  kem  ;  ye  pay  jes'  ez  much  'tention  ter  me 
ez  ef  I  war  that  thar  old  dog  o'  mine.  G'way  Watch  !  "  he 
broke  off  suddenly,  "  I  ain't  talkin  ter  you-uns.  I  wisht  yer 
throat  war  cut !  "  He  held  back  with  one  stalwart  hand 
his  canine  follower,  who  upon  the  mention  of  the  word 
"  dog  "  had  come  up  and  offered  to  lick  his  face.  "  Ye  air 
lookin'  over  my  head,  Marcelly,  an'  ye  'low  I  be  sech  a  fool 
ez  not  ter  know  it.  Yit  we  hev  been  raised  tergether.  An' 
I  remembers  how  I  hev  listened,  a-comin'  down  the  turn-row, 
ter  hear  ye  call  out,  sweeter  'n  a  mocking-bird's  singin', 
'Look,  Is'bel,  yauder 's  Andy.'  I'd  ruther  hear  it  'n  the 
voice  o'  the  Lord  !  Ye  need  n't  look  at  me  like  that.  I  'd 
jes'  ez  soon  go  ter  hell  ez  not  —  I  hev  done  gone  ter  hell,  ef 


THE   DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       219 

ye  ain't  goin'  ter  keer  nuthin'  'bout'n  me.  Oh,  Lord,  I  can't 
learn  nuthin'  mo'  'bout  brimstone  an'  fire  in  the  next  worl'. 
I  hev  felt  'em  in  this." 

•'  I  ain't  goin'  ter  keer  nuthin'  'bout  onchristian  folks,"  re 
marked  Marcella,  "  an'  none  ez  use  cuss  words  an'  talk  'bout 
'  hell.'  " 

She  spoke  stiffly  and  with  an  averted  eye,  but  when  he 
had  turned  his  head  away  she  looked  down  kindly  and  len 
iently  at  him. 

He  suddenly  glanced  up.  "  Air  it  this  all-fired  Christian, 
Teck  Jepson,  ez  hev  sot  ye  agin  me  ?  "  he  asked  suspiciously. 

"  Him  ez  flung  my  father  down,  an'  rid  over  him,  an' 
bruk  his  skull,  an'  "  —  She  could  say  no  more ;  the  sobs 
were  in  her  throat,  her  eyes  were  full  of  tears. 

•'  Don't  cry,  Marcelly,"  he  said  sympathetically,  and  he 
was  silent  for  a  moment  in  respect  for  her  grief.  Then  he 
renewed  his  insistent  pleas.  "  Marcelly,"  he  demanded, 
"  air  thar  ennybody  ez  ye  know  ez  I  ain't  'quainted  with  ?  " 
Who  could  say  how  Fate  might  play  the  trickster  ?  He  felt 
his  hands  were  feeble  as  he  sought  to  control  the  possibili 
ties. 

It  might  have  been  that  his  words  recalled  the  stranger 
who  had  brought  such  peace  and  ease  to  her  father,  that 
night  of  storm  and  trial.  It  might  have  been  that  he  was 
already  in  her  thoughts.  His  image  in  the  vicissitudes  of 
that  night,  now  in  the  lurid  and  fluctuating  illumination  of 
the  forge,  now  as  he  quelled  the  frenzy  of  the  wounded  man, 
distinct  in  the  white  gleams  of  the  lighted  cabin,  became 
vividly  present  with  her.  She  did  not  hesitate.  She  be 
lieved  he  was  a  fugitive  from  the  law,  but  whether  he  had 
done  ill,  or  whether  he  was  falsely  suspected,  he  should  not 
be  hurt  by  aught  that  she  might  say.  She  sought,  however, 
to  summon  as  innocent  a  duplicity  as  she  might,  for  was  she 
not  a  "  perf  essin'  member  "  ? 

"  What  makes  ye  ask  sech  a  question  ez  that,  Andy  ?  Ye 
'pear  bereft." 


220   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

"  I  know,"  cried  the  young  fellow  wildly,  "  ez  ye  think 
'bout  somebody  nowadays  in  the  time  whenst  ye  useter  think 
'bout'n  me !  " 

"  Why,  Andy  !  "  exclaimed  Marcella,  laughing,  and  blush 
ing  for  the  arrogations  of  his  woe.  "  I  never  did  think 
'bout  you-uns,  ef  the  truth  war  knowed." 

u  Ye  did !  Ye  did !  I  useter  know  it  'way  over  yan- 
der  ter  Chilhowee,  kase  I  'd  feel  so  happy,  so  happy,  whilst 
a-plowin',  or  choppin'  wood,  or  a-pullin'  fodder.  I  would  n't 
hcv  swapped  places  with  a  n'angel.  Ye  used  ter  think  'bout 
me  then,  an'  now  ye  think  'bout  somebody  else." 

She  said  nothing,  and  he  leaned  back  against  the  post  of 
the  porch,  looking  up  at  the  far  crystalline  sky,  deeply  blue  ; 
but  one  scant  cloud  was  visible,  of  a  dazzling  opaque  white 
ness  in  its  central  mass,  and  with  tenuous  trailing  cirrus  ef 
fects  upon  its  verges.  It  pained  his  eyes,  and  he  pulled  his 
hat-brim  over  his  brow  as  he  lowered  his  head. 

"  I  tell  you  what,  —  I  wisht  I  war  a  Injun."  He  glanced 
up  at  her,  in  the  hope  that  she  would  ask  why.  But  her 
wheel  still  whirled,  her  little  foot,  with  its  low-cut  shoe,  visi 
ble  on  the  treadle.  Her  bright,  downcast  eyes  were  fixed 
upon  the  thread  that  her  deft  fingers  drew  out  in  endless  at 
tenuations.  "  I  wisht  I  war  a  Injun,"  he  reiterated,  "  so  ez 
I  would  n't  know  't  war  murder  an'  a  scandalous  sin  ter  kern 
down  hyar  from  Chilhowee  in  the  night-time  an'  scalp  every 
hearty  single  man  in  the  Settlemint,  —  scalp  'em  an'  stab 
'em,  I  would.  I  wisht  I  did  n't  know  no  better  'n  that.  I 
wisht  I  war  a  Injun." 

Her  thread  broke.  The  wheel  ceased  to  revolve.  She 
looked  at  him  with  reprehensive  eyes. 

"  Andy  Longwood,"  she  remonstrated,  "  ye  air  gittin'  ter 
be  gredgin'  an'  mean,  —  an'  ye  ain't  tellin'  the  truth,  nuther. 
Ye  don't  wish  no  sech  foolishness,  an'  ye  would  n't  scalp  no 
body.  Ye  air  jes'  gredgin'  an'  mean." 

"  I  gredge  you-uns  ter  enny  o'  'em,"  he  replied.  Then, 
after  a  moment,  "  Look-a-hyar,  Marcelly  Strobe,"  —  he 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.   221 

adopted  in  turn  the  solemnity  of  the  full  name  in  addressing 
her,  — "  how  often  hev  ye  promised  ter  marry  me  ?  " 

"  Not  lately,"  she  declared. 

44  No,  not  lately,  an'  that 's  jes'  what  I  'm  a-talkin'  'bout. 
Lord  !  Lord  !  I  kin  'member  jes'  ez  well  how  ye  useter  look 
when  ye  fust  tuk  ter  toddlin'  round,  an'  folks  useter  tell 
me  then  ez  how  ye  an'  me  would  marry  some  day  ;  an'  I 
b'lieved  'em,  pore  fool  I  An'  so  did  you-uns,  though.  Ye 
useter  promise  ez  soon  ez  ye  could  talk  ez  ye  would  marry 
me.  Ye  useter  promise  even  arter  ye  war  ez  old  ez  Is'bel, 
an'  arterward,  too." 

"Waal,  Is'bel  ain't  so  very  old,"  observed  her  sister 
calmly. 

"  An'  all  of  a  suddint,"  continued  the  young  lover,  "  ye 
got  tongue-tied,  an'  would  n't  say  it  yerse'f,  an'  would  n't  let 
nobody  say  it  ter  you-uns." 

"  Waal,  Andy,  I  hev  fund  out  better  sence  then.  Promis- 
in'  ter  marry  air  a  mighty  serious  matter." 

"  'T  ain't ;  promisin'  ter  marry  me  air  a  mighty  cheerful, 
safe  thing  !  Knowin'  me  like  ye  do  !  Ef  ye  war  a-prom- 
isin'  ter  marry  some  o'  these  deceitful  folks  ez  kem  hyar  in 
thar  saaft  comp'ny  manners,  an'  then  go  cavortiu  round  the 
Cove  like  a  demented  blacksmith  ;  or  folks  ez  hev  got  Chris 
tian  talk  fairly  a-wobblin'  all  'round  'em,  an'  yit  all  Brum- 
saidge  air  afeard  ter  say  a  word  whilst  they  air  ridin'  folks 
down,  —  off'cers  o'  the  law  an'  sech,  —  't  would  be  a  mighty 
serious  matter,  an'  a  heap  mo'  serious  ter  keep  enny  sech 
promise." 

He  looked  at  her  triumphant  in  the  fullness  of  his  logic  ; 
but  alas !  what  has  love  to  do  with  logic  ? 

The  futility  of  all  his  fine  reasoning  was  borne  in  upon 
him  with  a  dreary  accession  of  heartache  and  a  determina 
tion  of  energy  to  his  temper. 

kt  But  ye  air  in  love  with  some  o'  'em,  Marcelly,  an'  ye  air 
jes'  foolin'  me.  Naw,  ye  won't  even  take  the  trouble  ter 
try  ter  fool  me,  —  I  ain't  wuth  it.  Ye  air  in  love  with  some 


222       THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE. 

o'  'era,  else  why  air  ye  so  solemn  ?  It 's  enough  ter  make 
ye  solemn,  though  the  Lord  knows." 

She  had  not  recommenced  her  spinning ;  she  was  looking 
at  him  with  a  remonstrant,  smiling  expression,  as  if  she 
might  thus  coax  him  from  his  boyish  wrath,  when  suddenly 
her  eyes  filled,  her  lips  trembled. 

He  rose,  quivering  at  the  sight  of  her  agitation.  "I'll 
find  out  which  one  of  'em  't  is  that  ye  air  goin'  ter  marry, 
Marcelly,  an'  I  '11  go  down  yander  inter  the  Settlemint  an' 
scatter  what  he  calls  his  brains  all  'round  his  anvil.  Air  it 
Clem  Sanders  ?  Air  ye  goin'  ter  marry  Clem  ?  " 

"I  ain't  solemn  fur  Clem  Sanders,"  she  sobbed,  half 
laughing ;  then,  with  a  gush  of  tears,  "  I  hev  got  a  heap  be 
sides  ter  make  me  solemn." 

"Tell  me  who  it  is  that  ye  air  goin'  ter  marry,"  —  he 
touched  the  trigger  of  his  rifle,  with  a  fierce  elation  in  his 
eye  ;  "  it 's  loaded  fur  him.'" 

Marcella  suddenly  lifted  her  head,  as  if  listening.  She 
rose  precipitately.  "  Jes'  go  'long,  now,  Andy.  Ye  hev 
been  hyar  a  long  time.  Go  home,  an'  I  '11  tell  ye  ennythin' 
ye  w^ant  ter  know  nex'  time  ye  kem.  Jes'  g'long,  like  a 
good  boy." 

He  stared,  motionless,  amazed  at  her  pale  face  and  agi 
tated  manner.  Then  he  too  heard  a  step  within.  "  He  's 
in  the  house,"  he  exclaimed,  "  a-talkin'  'long  o'  Mis'  Strobe 
an'  Is'bel !  An'  ye  wanted  me  ter  go  'way  'thout  seein'  him. 
I  know  ye  now,  Marcelly,  an'  1 11  stay.  I  won't  be  druv 
off ;  I  '11  stay,  an'  "  —  His  hand  once  more  sought  the  trig 
ger  of  his  rifle,  as  his  blazing  eyes  fixed  upon  the  door 
whence  the  sound  of  the  step  proceeded.  A  hesitating  step 
it  was,  and  slow. 

And  then  Eli  Strobe  appeared,  and  Longwood  saw  him 
for  the  first  time  since  his  illness.  The  young  man  recoiled 
from  the  shock,  his  angry  insistent  face  smitten  with  a 
sudden  gravity,  even  awe.  So  forlorn  and  spectral  was  Eli 
Strobe,  with  his  pallid,  lantern-jawed  face  ;  his  half-shaven 


THE  DESPOT  OF  B/WOMSEDGE    COTE.       223 

head,  still  bandaged  ;  his  clothes,  his  very  skin,  hanging 
loosely  on  his  big  bones.  He  cast  his  old  familiar  sidelong 
glance  at  the  young  fellow,  freighted  with  evident  but  surly 
recognition,  and  he  had  the  dumb,  pathetic,  shambling  dig 
nity  that  one  sometimes  discerns  in  a  wounded  animal,  as 
with  frequent  halts  he  tottered  up  to  an  armchair  on  the 
porch,  in  which  his  deft-handed  daughters  made  haste  to 
prop  him  with  pillows  and  wrap  him  with  blankets.  He 
muttered  something  vaguely  about  *"  them  leetle  darters," 
and  then  he  sat  quite  still,  looking  off  at  the  purple  moun 
tains,  and  the  golden  sunshine  on  the  red  and  amber  woods 
hard  by,  the  aspect  of  the  whole  world  changed  since  he 
saw  it  last. 

The  young  fellow,  still  staring,  had  sunk  down  upon  the 
porch  in  his  former  attitude,  wondering  if  indeed  there  were 
no  one  else  within  ;  why,  then,  had  Marcella  sought  to  hurry 
him  away  ?  She  had  settled  herself  again  at  her  spinning- 
wheel,  watching  with  a  tremulous  smile  the  clumsy  antics  of 
Long  wood's  dog,  courtier  enough  to  display  great  joy  upon 
the  reappearance  of  the  master  of  the  house,  and  leaping 
about  his  chair,  now  and  then  emitting  a  short,  shrill  bark. 

"Fust  time  I  hev  been  out,  Andy,"  observed  Eli  Strobe. 

Marcella  stopped  her  wheel  to  listen.  She  seemed  to  hang 
with  doubt  and  anxiety  upon  his  every  word.  Longwood, 
summoning  a  show  of  self-possession  and  cordiality,  remarked 
that  the  air  was  likely  to  do  him  good.  "  Ye  "'pear  ter  be 
gittin'  well  now,"  he  added  encouragingly. 

"  Yes,"  assented  Eli  Strobe  good-humoredly.  "  Mam  an' 
Marcelly  an'  Is'bel,  though,  hev  mighty  near  killed  me  with 
kindness.  'T  war  mighty  hard  fur  me  ter  start  out  ter  git 
well.  I  felt  like  I  'd  fairly  enjye  stayin'  sick  fur  a  livin'. 
An'  that  thar  old  doctor,  —  I  actially  b'lieves  he  hev  gin  me 
all  the  med'cine  he  hev  got.  The  rest  of  'em  in  the  Cove 
hed  better  not  git  sick  soon;  no  mo'  doctor-stuff  whar  that 
kem  from." 

Andy  Longwood  laughed  in  an  embarrassed  fashion,  by 


224       THE  DESPOT   OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE. 

way  of  making  an  appropriate  response.  Some  crows  — 
they  seemed  very  black  —  were  cawing  loudly  from  the 
top  of  a  full-leaved  hickory-tree,  that  blazed  a  resplendent, 
illuminated  yellow  down  by  the  fence ;  all  the  breadth  of 
the  sere  cornfield  hard  by  was  doubly  pallid  in  tint,  in  con 
trast  with  this  flaring  ochreous  splendor ;  the  sky  was  an 
intenser  blue  where  the  foliage  was  imposed  upon  its  ex 
panse,  the  farthest  mountains  duskily  purple,  while  below 
the  branches  of  the  tree,  near  to  the  great  dark  bole,  the 
roofs  of  the  Settlement  showed,  the  glimmer  of  the  frost  on 
the  eaves  not  altogether  spent,  albeit  the  sun  was  high,  the 
curling  tendrils  of  smoke,  blue,  and  misty,  and  timorous,  as 
they  crept  out  of  the  clay-and-stick  chimneys. 

Eli  Strobe's  eyes  dwelt  on  the  little  hamlet  for  a  moment. 
"  What 's  the  folks  in  the  Settlemint  a-sayin'  'bout  me ; 
Andy  ?  "  he  asked  unexpectedly.  "  I  ain't  seen  nobody  but 
the  gals  an'  mam,  ez  dunno  nuthin'  'bout  folks,  an'  politics, 
an'  sech  things  ez  a  body  wants  ter  hear  'bout ;  an'  the  old 
doctor,  ez  seems  ter  be  a  good,  useful  kind  o'  consarn,  but 
'pears  ter  think  a  man  oughter  set  still  all  day  an'  study 
'bout'n  his  liver,  stiddier  politics  an'  his  office  what  he  hev 
done  been  'lected  ter  hold,  an'  will  de-strac'  his  mind  ef 
he  gits  ter  thinkin'  'bout  enny  sech  ez  them.  Actially,  I 
b'lieve  that  old  man  would  hev  hed  me  darnin'  stockin's,  ef 
I  hed  n't  made  a  stan'  agin  him.  I  tried  ter  spound  a  pint 
o'  law  ter  him  t'  other  day,  an'  he  seemed  ter  take  a  fit 
till  he  got  me  ter  talkin'  'bout  craps  an'  gyardin  truck,  — 
turnips,  an'  inguns,  an'  sech,  ez  I  don't  keer  nuthin'  'bout. 
I  hain't  hearn  nuthin'  'bout  the  returns  o'  the  'lection  'n' 
nuthin'.  What  air  they  sayin'  'bout'n  me  in  the  Settlemint, 
Andy?" 

The  young  man  was  about  to  respond,  when  Marcella 
precipitately  forestalled  him  :  — 

"  They  don't  say  nuthin'  nor  do  nuthin'  in  this  Settle- 
mint.  Brumsaidge  air  the  lonesomest  place  in  these  hyar 
mountings.  Sech  kerryin's-on  they  hev,  though,  in  Pio- 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOM  SEDGE   COVE.       225 

mingo  Cove !  An'  t'  other  night  they  hed  a  dancin'-party 
over  on  Chilhowee." 

"  Whar'bouts  ?  "  cried  Andy  Longwood,  with  a  poignant 
note  of  surprise,  deprivation,  and  despair.  "  I  never  hearn 
nuthin'  'bout'ii  it.  I  dunno  why  they  never  invited  me," 
he  added,  with  surly  resentment.  As  he  gazed  up  at  her, 
he  could  not  interpret  the  glance  of  scorn  and  reproach  that 
she  cast  upon  him.  Then  she  did  not  lift  her  eyes  again, 
but  busied  herself  in  her  spinning,  while  Eli  Strobe,  catch 
ing  at  the  subject,  logically  descanted  upon  the  sin  of  dan 
cing,  and  described  with  a  fervid  imagination  the  experi 
ences  which  its  votaries  would  encounter  in  the  next  world 
as  retribution.  The  "  frequent  visitor  "  hardly  listened,  so 
mystified  was  he  by  the  taunt  of  Marcella's  glance  and  the 
news  of  the  airy  pleasuring  on  Chilhowee,  in  his  own  neigh 
borhood,  in  which  he  had  been,  for  some  unimagined  reason, 
debarred  from  participating.  If  it  were  not  so  inexplicable, 
he  might  have  believed  that  she  had  invented  the  circum 
stance,  and  relied  upon  his  tact  to  confirm  her  statement, 
and  thus  set  Eli  Strobe  off  on  a  theological  hobby.  He 
wondered,  hearing  vaguely  of  fiery  furnaces  and  furious 
brimstone,  if  the  doctor  considered  this  a  pleasing  and 
wholesome  subject  of  contemplation.  It  might  have  lasted 
longer  if  the  polemic  had  had  a  stronger  opposition.  Mar- 
cella  sought  to  furnish  this,  but  paternal  tenderness  rendered 
her  effort  of  no  avail. 

44  Of  course  I  ain't  talkin'  'bout  ye  dancin'  at  the  party 
las'  Christmas,  Marcelly.  Did  ye  think  I  meant  that  fur 
you-uns  ?  That  war  wunst  in  a  while,  —  a  leetle  dancin' 
an'  fun,  jes'  wunst  in  a  while." 

For  there  are  exceptions  to  every  zealot's  cherished 
theory  of  damnation,  and  the  imminent  terrors  of  hell  must 
be  abrogated  in  favor  of  one's  own. 

And  thus  the  discourse  came  to  an  end.  "  Andy,"  he 
said,  breaking  off  abruptly,  "  hev  ye  hearn  ennybody  in  the 
Cove  'low  ez  I  war  ter  blame  ?  " 


226   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

Once  more  Marcella  looked  at  her  youthful  lover,  her 
eyes  dilated,  pleading.  He  began  to  understand  that  there 
was  more  here  than  appeared  upon  the  suri'ace,  and  he 
wished  that  he  had  been  guided  by  her  monitions  and  had 
taken  his  leave.  He  gazed  at  her  earnestly,  desirous  of  say 
ing  what  she  wanted  him  to  say ;  but  he  could  read  naught 
in  her  eyes  save  her  remonstrance,  fear,  and  reproach. 
And  yet  he  must  answer. 

"  I  hev  hearn  some,"  he  faltered,  dolorously  truthful. 

"  Waal,  they  hain't  got  no  right  ter  blame  me,"  retorted 
Eli  Strobe.  His  color  had  risen  ;  his  eyes  flashed.  "  I  '11 
be  bound,  though,  —  cowardly  curs  !  —  they  don't  dare  ter 
do  nuthin'  but  talk ;  they  ain't  got  the  grit  ter  try  ter  set 
the  law  outer  me !  They  jes'  set  'round  at  the  store  an' 
the  forge,  an'  bob  thar  hats  tergether,  an'  whisper,  an'  talk, 
an'  talk."  He  grimaced  with  a  mimicry  of  secrecy  and 
malice,  and  bobbed  his  own  head  with  an  alacrity  that  made 
the  young  fellow  wince,  remembering  the  reports  of  how  vari 
ously  his  skull  was  fractured,  and  seeing  the  way  in  which 
it  was  presumably  bound  together. 

Marcella  was  spinning  again  with  feverish  industry  ;  the 
wheel  whirled  fast,  —  so  fast,  and  its  whir  was  continuous 
?&  I  loud. 

*'  Naw,  sir ;  they  don't  dare  call  me  ter  account  ter  the 
law  fur  killin'  Teck  Jepson.  Naw,  sir !  "  Eli  Strobe 
reiterated,  with  a  deep,  rotund  voice.  Suddenly,  with  an 
incidental  manner  and  a  clear,  casual  glance,  "  Whar  did 
they  bury  him,  Andy  ?  " 

The  young  man  sat  mute  and  dumfounded.  The  blood 
rushed  violently  to  his  head,  and  the  landscape  reeled  be 
fore  him.  He  had  scant  time  to  realize  the  emergency,  as 
the  recognition  of  the  state  of  affairs  dawned  upon  his  be 
wildered  intelligence,  and  to  canvass  within  himself  what 
answer  he  had  best  make. 

"  I  dunno,"  he  faltered.  "  I  be  so  constant  over  ter 
Chilhowee,"  he  added,  gathering  his  faculties. 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.   227 

"  Ain't  ye  never  hearn,  though,  Tvhar  they  buried  him  ?  " 
Eli  persisted,  with  growing  pertinacity.  "  I  did  n't  'low  ez 
'twar  you-uns  ez  preached  the  fun'ral  sermon,"  with  an 
angry  sneer  and  his  side-glance  of  bovine  surliness. 

"  Why,"  said  Marcella.  with  a  matter-of-course  manner, 
"  I  '11  tell  ye  :  they  buried  him  up  yander  in  that  thar  leetle 
buryin'-groun'  by  his  old  cabin,  whar  his  folkses'  graves  be." 

Her  father  fixed  a  keen,  suspicious  eye  on  her. 

"  Ye  didn't  know  yestiddy,"  he  commented  severely. 

Not  even  the  crafty  watchfulness  of  mania,  not  Andy 
Longwood's  sanity,  could  detect  aught  amiss  or  unnatural 
in  her  tones  and  manner  as  she  drew  out  her  thread,  and 
once  more  set  the  wheel  a-whiiling  before  she  replied. 

"  Naw  ;  Clem  Sanders  't  war  ez  told  it  ter  me,  when  he 
kem  ter  inquire  arter  ye,  las'  night.  I  axed  him." 

Andy  Longwood  understood  now  that  the  family  sys 
tematically  agreed  with  Eli  Strobe  and  humored  his  strange 
delusion,  lest  they  might  excite  him  to  his  detriment,  and 
that  these  were  the  directions  of  the  physician.  He  did 
not  fail  to  note  that  it  was  with  his  rival's  name  that  she 
sought  to  aid  her  forlorn  enterprise,  and  that  she  no  longer 
turned  to  him  for  help.  "  I  reckon  Clem  an'  nobody  else 
would  hev  been  sech  a  fool  ez  me,"  he  angrily  reproached 
himself.  He  was  eager  enough  to  go  now,  but  his  liberty 
had  fled.  The  invalid  had  fixed  earnest  eyes  upon  him, 
and  showed  a  continuous  desire  to  talk  ;  he  could  only  sit 
and  listen,  with  the  cruel  consciousness  of  how  every  dis 
traught  word  grated  upon  the  tender  heart  of  Marcella. 
He  realized  now  how  she  had  sought  to  shield  from  notice 
the  calamity  of  her  father's  loss  of  mind,  and  how  he  had 
thwarted  her. 

"Waal  — waal!  buried  him  thar,  did  they?  Teck 's 
gone  ! '  A  shade  —  a  symptom  of  remorse  —  crossed  his 
face.  "  He  's  in  the  grave  whar  he  tried  ter  put  me.  Mighty 
narrer  place,  folks,  mighty  narrer,  fur  ennybody  ez  hev  lived 
in  the  woiT  an'  got  used  ter  seem'  the  sky."  He  drew  a 


228   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

long  sigh,  and  mournfully  shook  his  head.  "  An'  he  war  a 
good  man  in  the  main  —  Look-a-hyar,  Marcelly,"  he  broke 
off  abruptly,  her  half -repressed  sob  catching  his  attention, 
"  what  ye  cryin'  fur  ?  It 's  whar  he  tried  ter  put  me  !  An' 
ye  see,  Andy,  they  can't  do  nuthin'  ter  me,  kase  I  war  a 
off'cer  o'  the  law  in  the  discharge  o'  my  jewty.  I  war  obli 
gated  ter  arrest  Teck,  an'  I  pulled  him  out'n  his  saddle  an' 
bruk  his  neck.  Ye  don't  b'lieve  it,  Marcelly  ?  "  He  looked 
at  her  with  a  flashing,  challenging  eye,  the  red  and  angry 
blood  rushing  suddenly  over  his  pale  face.  "  Ye  said  ye 
did  n't,  yestiddy." 

"  Waal,  that  war  yestiddy,"  the  girl  urged  soothingly. 

"  Ye  see,  Andy,  ef  Teck  hed  killed  me  whenst  he  rid  me 
down,  't  would  be  murder,  kase  I  war  off'cer  o'  the  law,  ar- 
restin'  him  whilst  gamblin'.  Hoss-racin'  on  a  public  road 
air  gamblin',  though  ye  might  n't  think  it,  Andy.  Ye  young 
folks  air  so  sodden  in  sin  ye  dunno  right  from  wrong.  Bur 
ied  him  up  yander  on  the  mounting-side,  'mongst  his  folkses' 
graves.  Waal  —  waal !  They  need  n't  try  ter  hold  me 
'sponsible,  kase  they  can't.  Hev  ye  hearn  ennythin'  "bout 
his  harnt  bein'  viewed,  an'  sech  ?  Fraish-buried  folks  walk 
sometimes,  they  say  ;  leastwise  till  they  git  used  ter  bein' 
under  the  groun',  or  wharever  they  hev  gone  ter.  But  I  hev 
never  hearn  tell  o'  none  o'  them  ez  hev  been  dead  a  corn- 
sider'ble  time  gittin'  a-goin',  —  none  o'  the  old  folks,  dead 
fifty  year  ago  an'  better,  an'  none  o'  them  Injuns  now  out'n 
that  thar  Injun  buryin'-groun'  way  up  on  Sing-Song  Creek. 
Whoever  see  a  Injun  harnt  ?  Shucks  !  't  would  make  me 
laff.  I  reckon  them  folks  hed  no  souls,  ef  the  truth  war 
knowed.  Ye  ever  see  a  Injun  harnt  ?  " 

"  Naw,  sir,"  replied  Andy.  "  Them  Injuns  over  ter 
Quallatown  air  plenty  dead  enough  fur  me  !  "  He  laughed 
constrainedly  as  he  made  the  admission,  for  the  sight  of  Kli 
Strobe,  lean,  and  pale,  and  grizzly,  with  his  overgrown 
beard,  and  his  tangled  hair,  and  bandaged  head,  was  not 
reassuring,  as  he  sat  and  discussed  his  ghastly  subject. 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDCE   COVE.       229 

"  I  jes'  study  'bout  Teck  Jepson  all  the  time.  I  kin  jes' 
see  how  he  looked  whenst  I  got  him  down  on  the  road  un 
der  his  horse's  hoofs.  He  bled  a  heap."  He  said  this  with 
a  certain  relish.  Then  he  looked  curiously  at  a  dark  stain 
on  his  coat-sleeve,  and  was  silent  for  a  moment.  "  I  wisht 
I  knowed  what  he  said  whenst  he  got  ter  Torment."  He 
winked  feebly  at  Longwood,  unnoticing  that  the  young  man 
winced.  "  I  wisht  I  knowed  ef  he  walks." 

It  was  waxing  close  upon  noon.  The  shadows  had  gradu 
ally  dwindled.  The  world  was  so  still.  The  sunshine  lay 
on  the  splendid  slopes  in  languorous  reverie.  Here  and 
there  some  winged  thing  whisked  about  in  the  fine  soft  ra 
diance,  miraculously  escaping  the  frost,  or  gallantly  with 
standing  it,  like  certain  human  antiques,  prolonging  the 
sentiment  and  fervor  of  a  summertide,  albeit  they  cannot 
stay  it. 

Marcella's  attention  pensively  followed  the  airy  zigzags 
of  those  unconquered  wings  ;  the  little  wheel  was  still ;  her 
hands  had  fallen  passive  at  last  in  her  lap.  Andy  was  once 
more  meditating  departure.  He  straightened  out  his  limbs 
as  he  sat,  and  he  lifted  his  head  and  looked  about  him.  The 
next  moment  he  glanced  up  at  Marcella  with  an  expression 
of  startled,  anxious  inquiry.  Her  eyes  were  already  riveted 
upon  the  turn-row,  where  amidst  the  pallid  corn  Teck  Jep 
son  was  slowly  coming  toward  the  house. 


XIII. 

IT  was  one  of  those  moments  charged  with  the  realization 
of  a  weighty  emergency,  when  the  mind  shrinks  from  the 
responsibility  of  discriminating  in  the  crisis,  and  would  fain 
leave  the  event  to  ensue  unchecked.  Marcella  sat  as  still  as 
if  she  were  merely  a  figure  painted  on  the  pale  yellow  back 
ground  of  the  sere  mass  of  clambering  vines  that  clung  to 
the  porch  on  which  the  salient  coloring  of  her  dark  blue 
dress,  the  red  kerchief  about  her  throat,  her  brown  floating 
hair,  her  widely  open  brown  eyes,  the  fresh  flesh  tints  of 
her  face  and  hands,  stood  out  with  an  effect  delicate,  yet  in 
tense.  The  little  rough  gray  spinning-wheel  at  her  knee 
was  distinctly  marked,  too,  for  its  humble  neutrality  of  tone 
was  aided  by  contrast,  as  well  as  the  ashen  brownish  hue 
of  the  old  hound's  head.  Perhaps  it  was  the  expression  of 
her  face,  instinct  with  expectation,  that  arrested  her  father's 
fluctuating  attention.  He  looked  at  her,  bewildered  for  a 
moment ;  then  he  turned  slowly  in  his  chair,  and  with  his 
deliberate  sidelong  glance  sought  to  follow  the  direction  of 
her  eyes. 

He  saw  the  approaching  figure  ;  there  could  be  no  doubt 
of  that.  The  cornstalks,  all  bleached  and  partially  stripped 
of  the  wealth  of  blades  that  the  summer's  suns  had  drawn 
out,  like  a  conjurer's  ribbon  flaunting  from  nothingness,  to 
wave  in  the  summer's  winds,  —  the  residue,  tattered  and 
mildewed,  glittering  here  and  there  with  the  white  rime,  — 
came  hardly  to  Jepson's  breast.  The  broad  shoulders  of 
his  blue  jeans  coat  showed  above  the  growth ;  his  wide  white 
hat,  set  far  back  from  his  brow,  disclosed  his  features,  with 
their  distinctive  chiseling.  The  peculiar  pose  of  his  head 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOM  SEDGE   COVE.       231 

and  his  erect  carriage  were  so  characteristic  that  he  could 
hardly  be  mistaken  even  at  a  distance.  His  eyes  were 
fixed  upon  the  group,  and  he  must  have  noted  Eli  Strobe 
holding  to  the  arms  of  his  chair,  his  bandaged  head  bent  for 
ward,  gazing  open-mouthed,  with  quivering  jaw  and  pallid, 
stricken  face.  He  certainly  saw  Marcella,  and  his  step 
slackened  as  he  watched  her  suddenly  rise  and  stand  behind 
her  father,  placing  one  finger  on  her  lip.  She  lifted  the 
other  hand  at  arm's-length,  and  with  a  frowning,  impera 
tive  face  she  waved  him  back.  He  stood  motionless  for  a 
moment,  hesitating  and  at  a  loss.  Then  he  walked  on  slowly, 
still  toward  the  house.  There  was  a  dip  in  the  ground  just 
in  front  of  him,  —  a  marshy  spot,  —  and  there  the  corn  had 
grown  tall  and  rank  ;  so  tall  that  the  sere  and  half-stripped 
stalks,  left  to  stand  stark  and  dead  in  the  field  till  the  spring 
burnings  and  plowings-under  should  grant  them  sepulchre, 
reached  higher  than  Teck  Jepson's  head.  Eli  Strobe,  tremu 
lously  intent,  watched  the  great  white  hat  disappear  behind 
these  relics  of  the  lush  crop ;  he  waited  motionless,  his  eyes 
fixed  upon  the  lower  stalks  where  it  should  presently  emerge. 
Time  went  by,  —  one  minute,  three,  five,  —  and  still  Jepson 
did  not  reappear.  Andy  Longwood  divined  that  he  had 
turned  aside  upon  Marcella's  signal,  and  had  taken  his  way 
along  the  furrows  between  the  corn,  out  of  sight,  and  so  to 
the  verge  of  the  field.  But  this  was  not  the  impression 
made  upon  the  distraught  brain  of  the  constable,  as,  his  pa 
tience  wearying  at  last  and  his  muscles  failing,  he  sank  back 
into  his  chair.  He  looked  craftily  at  the  two  young  people, 
to  judge  what  effect  the  apparition  —  for  thus  he  deemed  it 
—  had  had  upon  them  ;  if  indeed  it  had  appeared  save  to 
his  own  eyes.  In  their  uncertainty,  dealing  with  the  emer 
gency  at  haphazard  and  as  best  they  might,  they  unwittingly 
fostered  his  delusion.  Marcella  was  calmly  spinning  once 
more,  and  Andy  Longwood,  taking  his  cue  at  last,  idly  whit 
tled  a  stick. 

For  some  time  no  word  was  spoken.     Strobe,  gasping  for 


232   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

breath,  ever  and  again  looked  fearfully  over  his  shoulder  to 
where  the  languid  autumnal  sunshine  lay  still  and  vacant 
upon  the  expanse  of  the  pallid  corn.  Pilgrims  were  abroad 
in  the  blue  sky,  and  now  and  then  a  wild  weird  cry  floated 
down  from  migratory  birds,  sometimes  unseen,  and  some 
times  visible  only  in  the  tiny  converging  lines  bespeaking 
the  files  of  the  wild  geese,  all  a-journeying.  When  wings 
not  afar  off,  with  a  silken  rustle  and  gleams  of  living  light, 
came  cleaving  the  sunshine  and  dimpling  the  waters  of  the 
shr.llows  of  the  river,  he  showed  a  momentary  interest  to 
see  the  wild  ducks  settle  and  rise  again,  as  the  crack  of  a 
gun  told  that  a  death-charged  missile  had  pierced  their 
ranks.  He  glanced  mechanically  after  their. flight  as  with 
clamorous  cries  they  took  to  wing.  And  then  he  did  not 
forget  to  gaze  once  more  upon  the  curtaining  corn  where 
that  significant  figure  had  disappeared.  A  gray  squirrel 
scudded  along  the  rail  fence,  then  across  the  door-yard,  with 
a  large  hickory-nut  in  his  mouth,  and  vanished  up  the  bole 
of  the  chestnut-tree,  making  small  account  of  the  old  hound, 
who  simply  growled  in  an  undertone,  his  eyes  bright  and  liq 
uid  and  his  ears  pricked  up.  The  wounded  man's  heavy- 
lidded  eyes  followed  with  a  twinkle  the  whisking  squirrel. 
"  Ye  ain't  a-goin'  hongry  this  winter,  air  ye.  bubby  ?  I  '11  be 
bound  ye  be  a  reg'lar  high  liver,  ef  the  truth  war  knowed." 
Marcella  took  note  of  the  easy,  natural  tone.  She  drew 
a  long  sigh  of  relief.  The  tense,  feverish  spark  had  died 
out  of  her  eyes  :  they  were  pensively  bright,  as  she  fixed 
them  smilingly  upon  her  father.  She  believed  that  her  quick 
resource  had  taken  effect.  He  had  seen  Teck  Jepsoii. 
trimly,  but  she  thought  that  at  the  distance  he  could  not 
have  recognized  him.  and  that  she  had  averted  the  calamity 
which  the  sudden  entrance  upon  the  scene  of  the  man  whom 
he  supposed  dead  would  surely  have  precipitated.  He  might 
have  been  shocked  into  a  relapse  of  his  ravings  and  his  vio 
lent  mania,  from  which  perhaps  he  would  never  have  emerged 
again. 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       233 

"  An'  the  doctor  say,  *  Keep  him  quiet.'  "  she  muttered. 

The  sunshine,  and  the  air,  and  the  wonderful  balsamic 
freshness  and  buoyancy  that  seemed  to  pervade  it,  all  had  a 
tonic  effect  on  Eli  Strobe.  His  color  became  more  natural, 
his  eye  was  calmer,  the  blood  in  his  veins  seemed  charged 
with  his  own  bold  identity.  He  began  to  feel  his  cour 
age. 

"  I  ain't  afeard  o'  nuthin',"  he  remarked  triumphantly, 
suddenly  pursuing  aloud  the  tenor  of  his  thoughts.  His 
daughter  stopped  and  stared,  crest-fallen,  since  he  seemed 
again  incoherent.  "  I  never  war  afeard  o'  no  livin'  man, 
an'  I  ain't  a-goin*  ter  set  out  at  my  time  o'  life  ter  git 
skeered  at  harnts.  I  war  a-tellin'  ye  jes'  now  'bout  mebbe 
Teck  Jepson's  harnt  mought  set  out  ter  walk.  Ef  he  tuk 
ter  foolin'  round  me,  I  'd  jes'  ax  him,  '  What  kin  ye  do  ? 
What  kin  ye  do  ?  ' '  He  put  both  hands  on  his  knees  and 
wagged  his  head  from  side  to  side,  casting  up  that  charac 
teristic  sidelong  glance,  as  if  thus  defying  and  confronting 
the  supposed  spectre.  k<  *  Ye  could  n't  do  nuthin'  ter  me 
whilst  live  an'  hearty.  An'  I  ain't  a-goin'  ter  be  afeard  o' 
ye  now  ye  air  dead.  Ef  ye  kern  a-tromplin'  round  hyar,  I  '11 
arrest  ye,  —  I  '11  sarve  papers  on  ye.  I  'm  constable  o' 
Brumsaidge  yit  I  '  : 

Once  more  he  turned  abruptly,  and  looked  out  over  the 
emptiness  of  the  cornfield.  Then  he  leaned  back  in  his 
chair,  and  this  idea  of  serving  papers  on  the  "  harnt "  came 
over  him  anew,  and  seemed  to  amuse  him  mightily.  Now 
and  again  he  muttered,  "  I  '11  sarve  papers  on  ye,"  and  chuck 
led  slyly  to  himself.  "  I  '11  sarve  papers  on  ye,  till  ye  '11  be 
glad  ter  stay  in  yer  grave,  writ  proof." 

"  This  hyar  Jepson,"  —  he  spoke  aloud,  leaning  forward 
with  his  elbows  on  his  knees,  and  assuming  that  sly,  confi 
dential  air  characteristic  of  the  rustic  gossip,  as  he  looked 
from  one  to  the  other  of  the  young  people.  —  "  he  tried 
powerful  hard  ter  make  up  ter  me  in  his  last  days,  though 
I  know  he  never  used  ter  like  me  much,  kase  I  war  cousin 


234   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

ter  M'ria  White,  ez  married  Ben  Bowles,  an'  put  her  up  ter 
gittin'  a  powerful  good  trade  out'n  Teck  whenst  he  went 
ter  live  with  them,  —  an'  ginerally  kase  I  war  kin  ter  M'ria. 
An'  I  '11  'low  myse'f  M'ria  air  a  pritty  stiff  one  ter  stan'. 
Some  folks  useter  think  mebbe  I  mought  marry  M'ria  myse'f, 
me  bein'  a  widower  ;  but  I  say,  '  Naw,  sir  !  I  ain't  a-goin' 
tor  hev  my  pleasure  at  the  jedgmint  day  plumb  destroyed 
by  hevin'  ter  go  ter  heaven  with  two  wimmen  a-clawin'  an' 
tearin'  each  other's  hair  an'  golden  harps  'bout  which  one 
owned  me  !  Thanky  !  One  wife  's  enough.  Mought  be  said 
ter  be  a  plenty.'  "  He  laughed  with  his  heavy  bass  rumble. 
"  But  I  want  ter  tell  ye  'bout  Teck,"  he  went  on,  lapsing 
into  his  tone  of  urgent  mystery.  "  Oh,  I  tell  ye,  in  his  las' 
days  he  made  up  ter  me,  —  Teck  could  be  ez  smooth  an' 
slick  ez  a  bullet  when  he  wanted  ter  ;  an'  what  fur,  do  ye 
reckon  ?  Why,  fur  Marcelly.  He  war  bound  ter  find  favior 
in  her  eyes,  so,  knowin'  she  set  a  heap  o'  store  by  her  dad's 
opinion,  he  ondertook  ter  git  mighty  friendly  with  Me  !  " 

He  was  addressing  himself  now  to  Andy  Long-wood, 
whose  expression  had  changed  from  pity  and  embarrassed 
anxiety  to  keen  and  alert  interest.  The  young  fellow's  face 
was  flushed  ;  he  had  drawn  himself  into  a  tense  listening 
position  as  he  sat  on  the  step  ;  as  he  turned  his  head  eagerly 
upward,  his  light,  curling  hair  fell  down  longer  still  upon 
his  broad  shoulders  beneath  the  wide  brim  of  his  hat,  set  far 
back.  He  had  the  greater  interest  in  what  was  to  come  be 
cause  he  began  to  realize  that  Eli  Strobe  was  perfectly  sane 
except  in  regard  to  the  circumstances  surrounding  the  dis 
aster,  —  his  delusion  concerning  Teck  Jepson's  death  and 
the  manner  of  it.  He  simply  was  the  victim  of  what  is 
known  as  a  "  fixed  idea."  On  other  topics  his  mind  seemed 
even  more  alert  and  lucid  than  formerly,  possibly  because 
of  that  freshened  interest  in  life  characteristic  of  the  invalid 
returning  to  the  world  after  an  interval  of  seclusion.  He 
was  more  talkative  than  was  his  wont,  and  in  relaxing  his 
reserve  he  had  lost  that  very  glutinous  quality,  his  policy, 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       235 

which  usually  serves  to  hold  together  what  men  really  think, 
and  prevent  it  from  melting  into  speech,  which  is  often  the 
reverse  of  what  men  think. 

"  An'  I  did  n't  know  what  in  the  name  o'  Aberham  ter 
do  !  "  continued  Eli  Strobe,  with  uncharacteristic  communi 
cativeness.  "  Me  runnin'  fur  election,  an'  this  hyar  man 
a-courtin'  round  Marcelly.  An'  he  hed  hearn  mam  acci 
dentally  'low  ez  Marcelly  despised  him,  so  I  hed  ter  be 
powerful  keerful,  kase  I  did  n't  want  him  ter  vote  agin  me 
fur  constable.  That  war  the  main  pint.  Young  folks  kin 
git  married  or  stay  single,  whichever  seems  the  foolishest 
ter  'em  ;  that 's  what  they  always  do,  —  the  foolishest.  But 
ye  can't  git  'lected  ter  office  by  jes'  wantin'  ter.  Ef  ye 
ain't  'lected  constable,  ye  can't  be  constable.  But  ef  ye  can't 
git  one  gal,  ye  air  mighty  apt  ter  git  another ;  they  ain't 
all  o'  one  mind.  An'  I  did  n't  want  the  young  folks's  fool 
ishness  'bout  fallin'  in  love  ter  oust  me  out'n  my  office. 
Kase  Teck  Jepson  air  mighty  robustious,  an'  ef  he  hed  tuk 
a  nation  ter  work  agin  me  in  the  election  he  'd  hev  done  it 
with  a  will.  So  when  he  'd  say  suthin'  'bout  Marcelly,  I  'd 
say,  '  Thar  's  plenty  o'  time  fur  me  ter  choose  a  son-in-law, 
Teck,  an'  I  mus'  say  candidates  fur  that  office  abound  in 
this  kentry.'  "  He  stopped  to  laugh,  then  went  on  gravely : 
"  '  The  outlook  fur  sons-in-law  is  promisin'.  I  ain't  liable 
ter  be  destitute  ;  but  I  be  goin'  ter  take  my  time  'bout  git- 
tin'  a  son-in-law.'  So  Teck  jes'  didn't  know  whether  I 
favored  him  or  no,  but  war  n't  made  mad  ;  though  I  knowed 
all  the  time  ez  Marcelly  war  a-goin'  ter  marry  Clem  San 
ders,  —  ain't  ye,  Marcelly  ?  " 

Andy  Longwood  caught  his  breath,  as  he  looked  up  at 
her.  There  was  a  touch  of  coquetry  in  the  glance  of  her 
eye  and  her  mounting  color,  as  she  nodded  a  careless  acqui 
escence.  She  would  not  contradict  the  invalid,  and  per 
chance  she  relished  the  tumult  of  indignation  that  flared, 
upon  her  gesture  of  affirmation,  in  Andy  Longwood's  face ; 
for  nothing  concerning  her  old  playfellow  seemed  a  serious 


236        THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE. 

matter  to  her.  The  next  moment  she  was  smiling  down  at 
him,  ready  to  signal  a  negative  to  him,  but  he  had  turned 
his  head  resolutely  away. 

"  Sometimes,"  pursued  the  politician,  "  I  'd  say  ter  Teck, 
whenst  he  talked  'bout  Marcelly,  I  'd  say,  '  I  'm  obligated 
ter  hev  a  mighty  smart  man  fur  my  son-in-law,  kase  I  hev 
got  a  darter  e/  hev  n't  got  her  ekal  fur  looks  an'  goodness 
outside  o'  the  courts  o'  heaven.  Kin  ye  read  ?  '  An'  he  'd 
say,  mighty  oneasy,  *  Naw ;  what  do  I  want  ter  read  fur  ?  ' 
An'  then  I  'd  say,  '  Kin  ye  even  spell  ?  Clem  Sanders  kin.' 
An'  he  'd  say,  '  Naw,'  powerful  glum,  I  tell  ye.  Then  he  'd 
be  perlite  fur  true  fur  a  while,  —  a  good  while.  When, 
Andy,  I  '11  tell  ye,  'twixt  ye  an'  me  an'  the  gate-post,  sech 
spellin'  ez  Clem  Sanders  kin  do  oughter  be  agin  the  law ! 
It  air  agin  every  law  o'  spellin'.  Clem  oughter  be  hung  a 
leetle  fur  each  offense.  It  jes'  fixes  him  in  his  criminal 
conduct  agin  the  alphabet.  Oh,  ho  !  But  Teck  never 
knowed  no  better.  He  lowed  I  wanted  a  school-lamed 
son-in-law,  an'  Clem  war  that  lamed  man.  Heigh  ho !  I 
reckon  I  ought  n't  ter  hev  made  him  so  mis'able  in  his  las' 
days.  But  I  couldn't  abide  ter  git  cut  out'n  my  office 
kase  all  the  young  idjits  in  the  kentry  war  insane  'bout 
Marcelly." 

He  leaned  back  in  his  chair  once  more,  desisting  at  last, 
for  there  had  begun  to  be  an  unmistakable  prospect  of  los 
ing  his  audience.  Andy  Longwood,  who  had  wished  to  go 
earlier,  but  had  found  his  will  not  adequate  to  the  emer 
gency,  remaining  helplessly  embarrassed  by  the  awkwardness 
of  the  situation  which  left  him  an  unwelcome  witness  of  the 
manifestation  of  Eli  Strobe's  mania,  now  felt  the  energy 
of  his  own  grievances  imparted  to  his  volition  by  the  dis 
closures  which  had  chanced  to  be  made.  He  was  once  more 
self-absorbed,  self-centred.  He  hardly  noticed  the  wounded 
man,  or  that  he  rose  so  precipitately  upon  the  conclusion  of 
the  last  sentence  that  it  savored  of  the  rudeness  of  inter 
ruption  and  disrespect  to  his  elders.  He  could  go  now, 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.   237 

easily  enough,  —  willingly.  His  face,  as  he  stood,  younger 
far  than  his  muscles,  callow  of  expression  considering  his 
height,  belying  his  claim  to  the  authority  and  respect  that  he 
arrogated  as  a  full-grown  man,  was  flushed,  and  wore  that 
petulant  importance  of  adolescence  that  falls  far  short  of  the 
dignity  for  which  it  strives.  Marcella  knew  well  the  puerile 
heroics  and  reproaches  that  would  have  come  from  him  had 
they  been  alone ;  and  so  much  his  senior  was  the  girl,  four 
years  his  junior,  that  she  was  wont  to  slyly  laugh  at  him,  to 
maternally  humor  his  view  of  his  own  importance,  and  to 
feel  very  kindly  toward  him,  for  they  had  always  been  to 
gether,  and  he  had  been  a  merry  and  good-tempered  play 
mate  in  the  old  days.  He  had  not  yet  ceased  to  be  amus 
ing,  save,  poor  fellow,  to  himself. 

"I  mus'  be  a-goin',''  he  observed,  not  lifting  his  eyes, 
and  articulating  indistinctly,  for  he  only  slightly  moved  his 
lips.  She  had  often  seen  him  in  this  mood,  and  ten  years 
ago  these  manifestations,  so  familiar  to  her,  would  have 
preceded  a  wild  burst  of  tears  and  a  stamping  of  small 
brogans  in  rage.  She  remembered  him  well  in  this  guise 
of  youthful  grief.  Such  seizures  had  passed  from  his  recol 
lection  as  if  they  had  never  been.  He  could  not  have  pic 
tured  himself  at  any  period  so  removed  from  that  idea  of 
dignified  and  important  identity  which  he  fancied  was  him 
self. 

"  We  air  goin'  ter  dish  up  dinner,  Andy,"  she  observed, 
alluringly.  u  Some  o'  the  late  corn  ain't  plumb  hardened 
yit,  an'  we  air  goin'  ter  hev  corn-puddin'.  Them  guinea 
hens  ye  gin  me  lays  aigs  enough  fur  ennythin'.  Ye  better 
stay." 

Few  people  in  this  world  have  the  opportunity  of  behold 
ing  a  fairer,  more  gracious  face  than  that  which  she  turned, 
as  she  bent  over  her  wheel,  and  looked  at  him,  her  eyes 
shining  and  sweet,  her  lips  smiling,  showing  the  glittering 
line  of  her  teeth. 

But  he  kept  his  eyes  averted. 


238   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

"  I  don't  want  no  dinner,"  he  declared. 

"  Got  above  eatin',  hev  ye  ?  "  remarked  Eli  Strobe,  whose 
affinities  were  essentially  those  of  maturity,  and  who  had 
scant  sympathy  with  the  callow  stage  of  manhood.  He 
entertained  a  robust  contempt  for  its  assertions  and  its  con 
fidence  in  some  bigger  and  better  future,  likely  to  wait  upon 
its  superior  capacities,  than  other  men  had  attained.  "  Ye  '11 
git  ter  heaven  quicker  'n  ye  think  fur,  ef  ye  jes'  hold  out 
an'  foller  that  fashion  ez  a  constancy." 

Andy  lifted  his  eyes  slightly  now,  with  an  expression  of 
surly  indignation,  but  mindful  of  his  own  position  he  said 
merely,  "  I  ain't  hongry."  He  lingered  a  moment  still,  be 
cause  the  mountaineers  do  naught  precipitately ;  then  with 
a  deliberate  "  Waal,  good-by,"  he  started  away. 

"Andy!  "  cried  Marcella,  her  voice  indeed  as  s\ve3t  as 
the  mocking-bird's.  He  turned,  gloomily  unappeased,  stiffly 
obeying  her  behest  to  accord  attention.  He  leaned  upon 
his  long  rifle,  as  he  stood  in  the  path  and  looked  back.  She 
had  risen,  and  had  come  to  the  verge  of  the  porch;  one 
hand  was  on  the  post,  the  other  was  held  out  to  him.  She 
was  smiling  still,  and  tears  would  have  impressed  him  as 
more  appropriate,  —  smiling  easily  and  naturally,  with  a 
touch  of  jesting,  ridiculing  remonstrance  in  her  manner. 
"  I  f urgot.  I  want  ter  ax  ye  ter  do  me  a  favior  —  but  — 
but  —  ye  look  so  mad  I  be  mos'  afeard.  Air  ye  mad  ?  " 

So  mad  f  And  this  was  the  way  she  interpreted  his 
heartbreak. 

He  looked  with  stern  reproach  at  her,  although  he  spoke 
in  a  gentle  tone  :  — 

"  Mad  ?     What  hev  I  got  to  be  mad  'bout,  Marcelly  ?  " 

"  Nuthin',"  she  began. 

"  That  don't  hender,  Andy,"  interrupted  Eli  Strobe,  un 
able  to  refrain  from  taking  a  hand  in  the  little  game.  "  The 
maddest  folks  air  always  them  ez  hev  got  no  call  ter  git 
mad." 

"  I  war  'feard  ye  mougJii  mebbe  be  mad  with  me,"  said 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.   239 

Marcella,  still  provokingly  smiling,  and  stepping  clown  from 
the  porch  and  slowly  approaching  him. 

The  sunshine  was  on  her  bare  head.  The  rich  chestnut- 
brown  of  her  hair  showed  such  lustre  and  depth  of  color 
in  the  broad  light,  such  gloss  and  fineness.  And  how  it 
waved  and  curled  as  it  fell  down  011  her  shoulders,  with 
an  electrical  isolation  of  filaments  toward  the  ends,  where 
they  seemed  to  lose  the  expression  of  color,  and  gave  only 
cloudy,  indefinite  effects  that  left  no  opportunity  for  strong, 
crude  lines  about  her  head.  Her  fair  skin  was  fairer  still 
in  the  radiance.  Her  eyes  were  dazzled ;  she  held  one 
hand  above  them,  and  their  expression,  as  she  looked  at 
him  from  the  shadow,  might  have  mollified  aught  less 
wrapped  in  self  than  this  very  young  man.  To  him  it  all 
meant  that  Marcella  knew  that  she  had  given  cause  for 
offense,  and  was  wishing  to  make  it  up  by  laughing  him  out 
of  his  just  indignation ;  for  a  half  laugh  curved  her  lips, 
and  brought  out  a  dimple  in  her  cheek,  to  fluctuate  there 
with  her  effort  to  ridicule  him.  She  came  silently,  looking 
tall  and  slight,  fit  to  be  swayed  even  by  a  gentle  wind,  and 
stood  beside  him  in  the  narrow  path  ;  glancing  at  him  for  a 
moment,  then  turning  and  gazing  casually  from  under  her 
hand,  that  still  shielded  her  smiling  eyes,  now  at  one  and 
then  another  of  the  great  ranges,  shimmering  azure  through 
the  sun,  save  when  a  white  cloud  in  the  sky  set  a  dimly 
purple  image  of  itself  a-scudding  as  impalpably  over  the 
mountains.  He  was  impelled  to  speak  first.  He  did  so  in 
a  tone  of  grave  and  measured  constraint,  as  one  who  will 
not  resent,  though  feeling  offense. 

"  What  favior  did  ye  wanter  ax  me,  Marcelly  ?  " 

Her  eyes  rested  still  longer  on  the  mountains ;  then  she 
fixed  them  on  his  face,  altogether  unmoved  by  his  grave 
tone,  except,  perchance,  to  laughter.  She  took  hold  of  the 
barrel  of  his  rifle  with  her  left  hand. 

'•  I  want  ye  ter  loan  me  this  rifle  o'  yourn,  Andy.  I  want 
ter  shoot  a  old  hawk  ez  hev  been  a-flusterin'  round  the  hens 
an'  chickens  lately." 


240   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

He  stood,  blankly  astonished,  for  a  moment. 

"  Why  n't  ye  borry  yer  dad's  ?  "  he  demanded,  in  surly 
suspicion  of  her  motives. 

Once  more  she  turned  her  shaded  eyes  upon  the  moun 
tains. 

"  Oh,  kase,"  she  said,  altogether  unembarrassed  by  the 
expression  of  stern  and  serious  inquiry  in  his  eyes,  "  ye  gin 
me  mos'  o'  the  chickens  I  hev  got,  an'  mebbe  it  mouglit  be 
good  luck  ef  I  war  ter  shoot  the  hawk  with  yer  own  gun." 

This  seemed  to  him  perfectly  reasonable,  but  his  distrust 
of  her  was  so  great  at  the  moment  that  he  subjected  the 
possibility  of  occult  motives  to  a  searching  mental  scrutiny. 
He  failed  to  evolve  anything  more  plausible,  or  indeed  any 
thing  beyond  what  she  had  said.  He  looked  at  her  hard 
for  a  moment,  still  bitterly  resenting  her  undimmed  bright 
ness  under  his  displeasure,  and  he  secretly  thought  she  had 
ill  chosen  her  time  to  ask  of  him  a  favor.  Still  maintaining 
his  gravely  offended  aspect,  he  said,  "  Ye  kin  hev  it,  Mar- 
celly,  ez  long  ez  ye  want  it."  He  released  his  hold  upon  it, 
leaving  it  in  her  hand,  and  went  his  way  without  another 
word.  At  the  gate  he  did  not  look  back,  but  pursued  the 
turn-row  until  he  was  half  through  the  field.  Under  some 
impulse  then  which  he  did  not  seek  to  discriminate,  he 
glanced  over  his  shoulder. 

Marcella  was  standing  in  the  path  where  he  had  left  her, 
still  gazing  after  him.  She  held  the  long  rifle  in  one  hand, 
leaning  her  soft  cheek  against  its  surly  ramrod  at  one  side  of 
the  barrel,  her  hair  touching  it.  She  smiled  radiantly  at 
him  through  the  sunshine,  and  called  out  with  joyous  sweet 
ness,  "Good-by,  Andy." 

If  he  said  aught  in  response,  she  did  not  hear  it.  Her 
charming  smile,  intent  on  mollification,  failed  of  effect ;  it 
was  too  much,  however,  to  expect  even  of  feminine  tact  that 
she  should  appreciate  that  frowns  might  have  served  better, 
or  null  seriousness,  inexpressive  and  impenetrable.  The 
flash  of  light  from  her  eyes  set  a-flaring  his  intelligence,  — 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       241 

a  sufficiently  good  endowment,  but  lacking  those  traits  of 
divination  and  imagination  characteristic  of  more  finely  fur 
nished  brains.  Without  its  impetus  he  could  never  have 
experienced  an  abrupt  illumination  concerning  Marcella's 
motive,  which  opened  before  him  by  the  time  he  had  pon- 
deringly  approached  the  verge  of  the  cornfield.  Its  con 
templation  almost  took  his  breath  away.  He  stood  mo 
tionless,  staring  vaguely  before  him,  realizing  why  she  had 
wanted  his  rifle,  —  how  strange  that  he  had  not  instantly 
known !  Had  he  so  soon  forgotten  his  idle  threats  ?  He 
had  a  vivid  mental  picture  of  himself  as  he  must  have 
looked  as  he  stood  on  the  porch  this  morning,  significantly 
tapping  the  trigger  of  the  loaded  rifle.  She  had  not  thought 
those  threats  idle  !  His  foolish  courage  flared  up  to  match 
the  estimation  in  which  he  thought  she  held  him.  She 
knew  him  for  a  dangerous  man  !  —  and  the  blood  pulsed  fast 
through  his  veins  as  this  flattering  idea  impelled  it.  She 
was  afraid  he  would  indeed  wreak  woe  upon  the  man  whom 
she  was  to  marry.  Her  father  had  said  that  she  was  to 
marry  Clem  Sanders,  and  she  had  not  denied  it.  He  had 
unconsciously  disbelieved  this  at  the  time,  as  one  cannot  at 
first  realize  a  misfortune,  which  stuns  the  finer  sensibilities 
by  the  weight  of  its  fall.  Only  now  he  was  beginning  to 
appreciate  what  her  loss  meant  to  him  ;  it  almost  unmanned 
him  for  a  moment,  thinking  as  he  did  that  it  was  her  solici 
tude  for  the  safety  of  her  lover  that  devised  the  clever  ruse 
to  win  his  rival's  rifle. 

"'Feard  I'd  hurt  Clem,"  he  said  with  a  sneer,  despite 
his  quivering  lip.  Perhaps  it  was  the  idea  that  violence 
was  expected  of  him,  which  her  precautions  first  suggested 
to  him,  —  for  the  bravado  and  bloody-mindediiess  of  his 
conversation  had  been  utterly  without  intention,  —  that  de 
termined  him  upon  his  course. 

"  Naw,  naw,  Marcelly,"  he  said,  half  aloud  and  mourn 
fully  shaking  his  head,  "  ef  not  me  —  nobody."  He  leaned 
down  as  he  spoke,  and  drew  from  his  boot-leg  a  glittering 


242        THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOM  SEDGE   COVE. 

steely  flash ;  he  looked  around  with  a  quick,  apprehensive 
glance ;  but  the  sere  stalks  of  the  corn,  which  were  strag 
gling  here,  so  near  the  end  of  the  field,  would  nevertheless 
serve  to  shield  him  from  the  observation  of  any  one  in  the 
yard  or  the  porch  of  the  cabin.  He  examined  the  knife 
with  fierce  eyes,  his  teeth  set  hard  together :  the  handle  was 
strong,  the  metal  excellently  well  tempered.  He  passed  his 
fingers  gingerly  along  the  edge,  —  keen,  how  keen!  Clem 
Sanders  himself  had  sharpened  it!  He  sheathed  it  and 
thrust  it  back  into  his  long  boot-leg,  and  went  on  taking  his 
way  down  the  road  toward  the  forge,  nerved  by  the  fact 
that  bloodshed  was  expected  of  him. 

A  drought  had  succeeded  the  wet  weather,  and  the  deep 
ruts. formed  by  the  wagon  wheels  in  the  red  clay  mire  of 
the  road  were  still  stiff  and  hard,  mementos  of  their  slow, 
creaking  progress  ;  and  although  here  and  there  a  thin  crust 
crumbled  under  his  heel,  his  steps  left  no  other  trace.  He 
heard  a  thrush  whistle  from  the  weeds  as  he  went.  He  looked 
up  at  the  spaces  of  the  broad  blue  sky,  infinite  elsewhere, 
but  here  with  bounds  and  barriers,  for  the  mountains  limited 
it  and  made  it  local.  He  was  vaguely  conscious  that  his 
dog,  with  an  affectation  of  loyalty  to  his  true  owner,  as  one 
might  seek  to  cultivate  a  fine  trait  to  wear  as  a  graceful 
accomplishment,  knowing  it  to  be  exotic  to  the  soil,  trotted 
at  his  heels,  with  a  long,  lithe  stride  and  a  sinuously  moving 
body,  a  wagging  tail  and  a  nose  that  pretended  to  snuff  the 
ground,  as  if  solicitous  for  some  trail  of  fox,  or  rabbit,  or 
other  gentry.  His  master  was  presently  made  aware  of  his 
defection  by  seeing  the  canine  shadow,  cast  a  little  in  ad 
vance,  suddenly  swerve  aside,  and  with  a  deft  pace  and  a 
drooping  tail  the  hound  set  out  swiftly  for  his  adopted 
home. 

"  The  very  dog  hev  gin  me  up,"  his  master  muttered  bit 
terly.  Sorrow  at  his  age  is  not  all  bitterness  ;  it  had  an 
element  of  satisfaction  to  be  so  very  adequate  to  his  suffer 
ings  and  his  wrongs.  He  mechanically  turned  his  head  to 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       243 

glance  after  the  creature,  who  had  paused,  gazing  back 
with  regret,  rent  with  inward  dissension,  his  poor  dog-con 
science  struggling  between  his  sense  of  duty  and  preference. 
Ho  looked  a  trifle  handsomer  than  his  wont,  with  the  ani 
mation  of  his  emotion  expressed  in  his  slender,  alert  head 
and  his  bright  eyes.  Then,  with  a  sudden  sharp  yelp  that 
seemed  to  cadence  the  pang  of  decision,  he  betook  himself 
swiftly  away  from  temptation,  resolved  to  persevere  in 
desertion,  and  was  soon  lost  to  view  as  the  turn-row  swal 
lowed  him  amongst  the  corn.  The  next  moment  Andy  had 
forgotten  that  he  existed.  The  music  of  the  forge  was  on 
the  air,  the  clinking  of  the  hand-hammer  and  the  clanking 
of  the  sledge.  How  the  distant  sound  assimilated  with  the 
mountain  voices,  as  the  echoes  came  lilting  forth  to  meet  it ! 
The  ear  might  hardly  distinguish  the  repetitions  of  the  rock 
from  the  vibrations  of  the  metal.  Presently  he  could  hear 
the  anvil  sing,  and  then  the  strokes  seemed  only  marking 
the  rhythm  of  this  fine,  tremulous,  high-pitched  monody. 
Clem  Sanders  was  there  at  his  work,  all  unsuspicious  of  the 
fate  coining  with  long  strides  down  the  road.  What  strange, 
untimely  thought  was  this  !  The  muscles  below  Longwood's 
knee  were  suddenly  sensitive  to  the  pressure  of  the  knife  in 
his  boot,  and  he  was  reminded  of  a  grisly  old  story  of  a 
cruel  man  whose  hand  was  palsied  on  his  weapon  in  the 
moment  when  he  would  have  taken  a  fellow-man's  life.  An 
old  woman's  story  this,  told  in  the  dusk  at  the  fireside,  to 
sap  away  with  mystery  and  weird  lights  and  artful  words 
a  man's  courage  when 'he  should  resent  his  wrongs  like  a 
man  ;  for  were  they  not  all  afraid  of  bloodshed,  these 
women,  and  cowards  to  their  heart's  core  ?  He  was  drag 
ging  his  left  leg,  for  all  his  logic  and  his  scorn  of  a  pusil 
lanimous  peace.  How  the  anvil  sang,  —  how  it  sang !  And 
why  need  he  wonder  would  it  be  silent  to-morrow,  —  would 
it  ever  again  give  forth  that  sonorous  melody  under  the 
hand  of  the  man  who  now  wielded  the  hammer  ?  Who 
talks  of  to-morrow  ?  Poor  fool,  let  him  mind  to-day.  Was 


244   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

the  knife  turning  around  in  his  boot?  Every  fibre  of  the 
limb  was  oppressed  with  its  significant  presence.  His  cour 
age,  however,  did  not  wait  upon  his  nerves  ;  he  saw  alto 
gether  unmoved  that  half  a  dozen  idle  men  were  standing 
about  the  door  of  the  forge,  or  loitering  within.  His  pace 
had  grown  slower  since  that  fancy  about  the  knife  had 
taken  hold  upon  him,  but  as  he  made  his  way  up  the  slight 
ascent  to  the  door  of  the  forge  he  stooped  down  and  boldly 
drew  out  the  weapon  ;  a  man  in  the  doorway  fixed  a  med 
itative  eye  upon  him,  thinking,  doubtless,  he  had  only 
brought  the  blade  to  have  an  edge  put  on  it.  Longwood 
could  see  through  the  dusky  little  place,  for  the  window  at 
the  rear  was  open,  and  he  marveled  to  find  his  senses  so 
alert.  In  such  a  moment  he  thought  it  strange  to  recog 
nize  Teck  Jepson,  leaning  against  the  wall,  his  face  white 
since  the  summer  sunburn  had  worn  away,  and  thoughtful, 
and  with  imperative  lines  even  in  silent  reverie  ;  his  hands 
were  thrust  in  his  leather  belt,  his  eyes  were  fixed  on  the 
leafless  autumn  woods.  Nay,  Longwood  took  note  even  of 
the  bare  brambles  of  the  wild  rose  outside  of  the  window, 
its  profuse  pods  glowing  scarlet  amongst  the  gray  rocks  and 
the  brown  moss,  and  the  fine-webbed  witchery  of  the  hoar 
frost  lying  on  the  sere  lea.ves  in  the  shadow. 

Clem  Sanders's  massive  figure  was  the  focus  of  the 
group,  with  his  leather  apron  girded  about  him,  his  sleeves 
rolled  back  from  his  muscular  arms,  the  light  of  the  fire 
—  a  steady  red  glow,  for  the  bellows  was  idle  —  upon  his 
square,  good-humored  face,  which* was  refined  by  that  look 
of  earnest  attention  and  grave  content  characteristic  of  the 
good  workman  at  his  chosen  task.  One  hand  held  with  the 
tongs  the  metal  upon  the  anvil ;  the  other  wielded  the  hand- 
hammer  with  deft  precision,  and  the  sledge  came  crashing 
down,  as  Jube,  the  parson's  son,  grasped  it  with  both  hands. 
The  brown  shadows  clustered  about  them,  and  the  figure  of 
the  striker  with  the  sledge  was  only  dimly  suggested  in  the 
rich  depths  of  the  picture.  Each  detail  grew  more  distinct 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.   245 

as  the  young  man  advanced ;  the  apartment  gradually 
seemed  lighter  than  it  did  at  a  distance,  seen  through  the 
brilliant  crisp  air,  and  with  the  contrast  of  the  sunshine 
and  the  high  color  of  the  autumnal  world  without.  As  the 
cinders,  which  were  mingled  with  the  earth,  at  the  door, 
began  to  grate  beneath  his  feet,  he  wondered  that  none  of 
those  within  took  note  of  his  deadly  intention  ;  that  the 
smith  should  stand  undefended,  unwarned,  for  Clem's  un- 
noting  head  was  bent  over  his  work,  and  the  yellow  sparks 
flew  from  the  red-hot  iron  as  the  hammer  and  the  sledge 
alternately  fell.  Longwood  did  not  realize  how  much  the 
habitual  imperturbable  aspect  characteristic  of  the  moun 
taineer  cloaked  his  agitation  and  his  design.  Even  when 
he  strode  into  the  place,  his  drawn  knife  in  his  hand,  call 
ing  out,  "  Clem  Sanders,  stand  up  ter  fight !  I  be  a-goin' 
ter  kill  ye  !  "  the  idler  in  the  doorway,  chewing  his  quid  of 
tobacco,  merely  shifted  his  eyes  again  to  the  new-comer, 
and  an  elongation  in  the  stiff  wrinkles  about  his  mouth 
betokened  preparation  to  smile.  Teck  Jepson  withdrew 
slowly  his  attention  from  the  forest  wilds  without,  and  the 
smith  responded  cheerily,  his  head  still  bent  over  the  anvil, 
"  Kill  away !  "  while  the  painstaking  blows  of  the  forging 
alternated  with  the  precision  of  machinery  and  the  sparks 
flew. 

Longwood  hesitated  for  a  moment ;  then,  with  a  swift 
fear  that  his  resolution  might  fail  him,  he  rushed  impetu 
ously  forward.  The  sharp  knife  in  his  hand  struck  the 
blacksmith  beneath  the  shoulder  blade  ;  it  was  long  and 
keen  enough  to  have  pierced  his  heart.  There  was  no  fault 
in  the  weapon,  —  a  good  strong  knife  ;  the  hand  had  fal 
tered,  —  no  sincere  hatred  had  nerved  it.  The  blade  fell 
clanking  to  the  ground,  as  the  blacksmith  tapped  the  face 
of  the  anvil  as  a  signal  that  the  blows  of  the  sledge  should 
cease.  He  turned  around  slowly,  his  straight  eyebrows 
lifted.  "  What  air  ye  doin'  of,  Andy  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  I  stabbed  ye.     I  wanter  kill  ye,"  Longwood  muttered, 


246   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

doubtful  of  himself  and  bereft  of  his  weapon,  for  Clem 
Sanders  had  casually  stooped  and  picked  up  the  knife. 

The  movement  had  possibly  caused  the  slight  wound  to 
gape. 

"  Look-a-yander  how  Clem  's  a-bleedin' !  "  exclaimed  Jube 
Donnard,  in  the  excited  falsetto  of  a  born  sensationalist. 

"Great  Molly  Har!  "  cried  the  smith,  showing  emotion 
for  the  first  time,  "  did  he  cut  a  hole  in  this  hyar  brand-new 
shirt  ?  Mam  hev  jes'  done  wove  it,  an'  she  'lowed  ef  these 
hyar  shirts  did  n't  las'  me  no  longer  'n  common,  I  'd  hev  ter 
git  the  trash  cloth  at  the  store,  ready  wove,  or  else  marry 
a  wife  ter  do  the  weavin'.  Kase  she  'lows  it 's  through 
gamesomeness,  an'  not  work,  I  git  my  clothes  so  tore  up. 
Look-a-hyar,  Andy,"  —  he  fixed  a  severe,  threatening  eye 
on  his  assailant,  —  "  ye  boys  air  gittin'  too  rough  in  yer 
playin',  kemin'  an'  a-cutthi'  other  folkses  clothes.  Mighty 
pore  fun." 

He  shook  his  head  reprehensively,  and  turned  excitedly 
toward  Jube  who  again  cried  out,  "  Look  how  Clem 's 
a-bleedin' !  " 

"  I  ain't  a-keerin'  fur  that !  "  exclaimed  the  doughty 
blacksmith.  "  It  will  stop  bleedin'  d'rectly.  An'  my  skin 
will  do  its  own  repairin'  'thout  mam  ter  talk  a  bushel  med- 
jure  'bout  the  sadness  o'  hevin'  ter  patch.  What  I  'm  tor 
mented  'bout  air  this  hyar  tear  in  this  new  shirt.  Air  it 
sizable  much  ?  " 

He  crooked  his  neck  dexterously  and  sought  to  look  over 
his  shoulder  to  see  the  rent,  but  for  all  his  muscle  he  could 
not  accomplish  the  feat. 

"  What  air  ye  ondertakin'  ter  stab  folks  fur,  Andy  Long- 
wood  ?  "  Teck  Jepson  had  ceased  to  lean  against  the  win 
dow,  and  his  tone  was  stern  and  inquisitorial.  "  What  do 
ye  want  ter  kill  Clem  fur  ?  Do  ye  s'pose  I  'd  hev  stood  by 
an'  seen  ye  done  sech  ?  " 

The  young  fellow,  aghast  at  what  he  had  done,  and  still 
more  aghast  at  what  he  had  sought  to  do,  experienced  a 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.   247 

sudden  revulsion  of  feeling  upon  hearing  Jepson's  words  ; 
his  fluctuating  anger,  that  had  failed  to  bear  him  through 
his  enterprise,  flared  up  anew.  His  pride,  too,  was  touched 
that  Clem  had  held  his  rage  and  the  wound  he  had  dealt  as 
so  slight  a  thing,  —  offering  not  even  a  blow  in  return  ;  he 
was  nettled  that  in  no  way  could  he  impress  a  commensu 
rate  idea  of  the  intention  and  the  spirit  that  had  animated 
him,  and  he  resented  infinitely  Jepson's  tone,  upbraiding 
him  as  if  he  were  a  boy.  The  wish  for  adequate  reprisal, 
to  deal  him  a  blow  that  he  would  surely  feel  to  the  quick, 
broke  down  what  slight  reserves  his  boyish  nature  had. 

"  Ye  hev  got  the  same  reason  ter  want  him  dead  ez  me !  " 
he  cried  out.  "  JMarcelly  Strobe  air  a-goia'  ter  marry  him. 
Her  dad  said  so,  —  an'  she  did,  too." 

He  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  Teck  Jepson  palpably 
recoil.  He  was  all  at  once  very  pale.  He  did  not  look  at 
Clem  Sanders,  nor  seem  to  see  anything  very  definitely. 
He  gazed  blankly  into  space,  or  perhaps  into  the  vistas  of 
memory  for  corollary  data  to  confirm  this  thing.  His  hand 
was  on  the  window-sill,  and  it  trembled  visibly. 

Andy  Longwood  watched  these  symptoms  of  pain,  each 
pang  of  which  he  could  well  divine,  with  a  sort  of  gloating 
relish,  and  once  or  twice  his  quick  breathing  was  so  pro 
nounced  as  to  seem  a  snort  of  victory. 

"  Now !  Now  !  "  he  said,  nodding  his  head  triumph 
antly. 

Clem  Sanders  had  stood  as  one  petrified,  turning  over 
these  significant  words  in  his  mind,  with  a  rampant  doubt 
on  his  face.  Suddenly  he  regained  his  faculty  of  motion 
and  his  easy  credulity.  He  tore  off  his  leather  apron,  leav 
ing  the  iron  cooling  on  the  anvil.  As  he  plunged  his  dark 
red  head  into  the  barrel  of  cold  water,  where  he  usually 
tempered  steel,  his  intention  of  making  a  toilet  began  to 
be  manifest  to  the  idlers  about  the  place.  Their  rallying 
laughter  and  gibes  gave  Andy  Longwood  food  for  medita 
tion  anew.  Evidently  this  was  news  to  Clem,  and  the 
others  seemed  to  readily  appreciate  it. 


248   THE  DESPOT  OF  BKOOMSEDGE  COVE. 

*'  Take  another  souse,  Clem,  ef  ye  air  goin'  a-visitirT," 
observed  the  grinning  Bassett ;  **  then  she  can't  tell  how 
red  yer  head  be." 

Clem  stared  at  him  credulously,  and  obediently  thrust 
again  his  red  head  into  the  water,  in  the  midst  of  renewed 
merriment. 

Andy  Longwood  experienced  a  sudden  terror,  which 
showed  that  his  hope  was  not  dead,  as  he  had  accounted  it, 
but  merely  comatose. 

44  Don't  tell  her  't  war  me  ez  stabbed  ye,  Clem,"  he 
pleaded,  every  vestige  of  the  desperado  gone.  "  Don't  tell 
on  me." 

"  G'  long,  Andy  !  "  replied  the  good-natured  fellow.  "  I 
hev  got  suthin'  better  'n  you-uns  ter  talk  about." 

He  put  on  his  coat,  and  strode  briskly  out  of  the  forge 
and  up  the  hill.  They  could  hear  him  whistling  a  long  way. 
Before  he  had  reached  Eli  Strobe's  cabin,  however,  the 
blithe  tones  were  checked.  He  in  his  turn  heard  music,  — 
a  vague,  fitful  lilting  ;  now  striking  out  with  some  full,  rich 
tone,  then  trailing  away  to  a  meditative  murmur,  as  if  the 
lips  whence  it  issued  were  closed  save  for  this  dream  of  a 
sound.  He  looked  about  for  a  moment,  uncertain  in  the 
silence ;  and  then  the  song  came  again,  clear  and  serene, 
and  mellow  as  the  day  itself,  seeming  a  part  of  the  fine  and 
full  culminations  that  the  yellow  sunshine,  and  the  violet 
haze,  and  the  deeply  blue  sky,  and  the  calm  of  the  season 
expressed.  It  was  Marcella,  singing  like  a  dryad  in  the 
woods,  fragments  and  fitful  impulses  stirring  the  sylvan  soli 
tudes  with  sweet  and  vagrant  accords,  and  making  the  echo 
timorous  to  try  so  elusive  a  strain. 


XIV. 

CLEM  SANDERS  turned  aside  into  the  woods,  following 
the  sound.  The  sere  leaves  rustled  under  his  feet ;  the 
vistas  seemed  to  he  clarified  hy  their  pure,  fine  brown  color ; 
now  and  then  a  dash  of  the  bolder  red  or  yellow  of  the  foli 
age,  still  hanging  on  the  trees,  served  at  once  to  accent  it 
and  as  a  contrast.  The  boles  were  dark,  and  stood  out 
distinctly,  apparently  innumerable.  He  did  not  see  her ;  he 
waited,  listening,  but  she  sang  no  more,  and  he  pressed  for 
ward  without  even  this  variant  and  uncertain  guide.  There 
was  much  fallen  timber  here  and  there,  victims  of  the  late 
storm,  the  leaves  still  clinging  to  their  limbs  ;  sometimes  a 
sturdy  neighbor  had  caught  the  smitten  tree,  and  still  stood, 
upbearing  the  dead  bulk,  its  own  doom  certain  but  slow  in 
the  weight  of  its  lifeless  burden ;  and  here  was  one  whose 
fall  had  wrought  at  once  complete  devastation,  —  the  giant 
of  the  forest  hurled  to  the  ground  in  a  single  blast,  the  roots 
torn  from  the  earth  ;  the  topmost  fibres  of  these  clay-em 
bedded  roots  were  higher  than  the  saplings  hard  by ;  a  deep 
excavation  showed  where  they  had  once  been  buried.  Sud 
denly  a  hound  clambered  out  of  this  cavity,  nosing  about 
with  occasional  wheezes,  evidently  bent  on  small  game. 
"  I  '11  be  bound  Andy  Longwood  did  n't  let  ye  run  rabbits 
whenst  he  owned  ye,"  even  the  lenient  blacksmith  was 
moved  to  observe,  marking  this  lapse  from  the  accepted 
traditions  of  the  etiquette  of  deerhounds.  He  welcomed 
the  sight  of  him,  however,  as  the  herald  of  Marcella,  and 
presently  he  saw  her  sitting  quite  still  on  the  bole  of  a 
fallen  tree,  her  head  bare,  flecked  with  the  sunshine  as  the 
leaves  stirred  above  her,  one  hand  listlessly  clasping  the 


250   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

bough  near  by,  and  the  other  holding  a  bunch  of  herbs 
which  Mrs.  Strobe  had  charged  her  to  seek ;  a  basket  of 
eggs  was  at  her  feet.  As  she  looked  up  and  saw  Clem  coin 
ing  toward  her,  his  heart  sank,  so  serene,  and  casual,  and 
unmoved  was  her  glance.  He  had  not  doubted  his  good 
fortune  since  the  first  stupendous  moment  of  its  revelation, 
but  now  he  recognized  the  incongruity  of  her  expression, 
and  its  utter  irreconcilability  with  his  conclusion.  He  had 
been  prepared  to  be  embarrassed,  being  —  to  use  his  own 
phrase  —  "  bashfuller  'n  ennybody."  But  in  all  his  experi 
ence  he  had  never  known  so  awkward  and  unhappy  an  in 
terval  as  when  he  paused  beside  her,  after  the  succinct  ex 
change  of  salutation,  "  Howdy." 

She  looked  calmly  forward,  and  as  he  stood  by  the  tree, 
with  one  hand  upon  a  branch  that  seemed  to  come  out  in 
a  neighborly  way  and  give  him  something  to  lean  upon,  at 
aU  events,  he  gazed  searchingly  down  at  her,  then  blankly 
at  the  sun-flecked  woods,  then  once  more  bent  his  earnest 
eyes  upon  her. 

"  Been  a-huntin1  aigs  ?  "  was  the  scanty  result  of  all  this 
cogitation,  as  he  indicated  the  basket  of  eggs. 

Marcella  nodded  assent.  Then,  after  a  silence  she  de 
manded,  "  Enny  objection  ?  " 

Even  Clem  could  not  fail  to  observe  the  flash  of  laughter 
in  her  eyes,  but  it  did  not  serve  to  render  him  more  com 
fortable. 

"  Naw  'm,  —  naw  'm,"  he  said,  with  propitiating  precipita 
tion. 

A  long  pause  ensued.  Marcella,  despite  her  own  deliber 
ate  methods  of  conversation,  found  these  intervals  of  irksome 
duration,  and  was  moved  to  make  a  remark. 

"  I  hev  been  huntin'  guinea-hens'  aigs.  They  hide  'em  so 
fur  off,  in  sech  out'n-the-way  places,  but  I  fund  a  right  smart 
chance  of  'em."  She  looked  down  with  satisfaction  into  her 
basket  at  the  dull  cream-colored  trophies,  captured  from  the 
fowls,  whose  old  vagrant  instinct  so  long  survives  domestica- 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       251 

tion.  "  I  fund  twelve  in  one  nest.  I  hev  got  a  whole  passel 
o'  guineas." 

"  Ybs-sum  !  "  said  Clem,  eagerly  awaiting  a  pause  that  he 
might  interject  this  earnestly  acquiescent  formula.  For  all 
his  bashfulness,  he  scarcely  withdrew  his  eyes  from  her  face. 
His  manner,  too,  was  sufficiently  assured,  but  in  every  word 
he  manifested  his  reverent  humility,  and  his  timidity,  and 
his  earnest  repudiation  of  any  sentiment  or  opinion,  how 
ever  dear,  that  might  not  coincide  with  hers.  He  would 
have  found  it  hard,  so  beset  was  he  by  doubt  and  fear,  to 
put  his  fate  to  the  test  at  any  time.  But  to  go  through  all 
the  decorous  preliminaries  of  asking  her  hand  and  heart, 
without  disclosing  that  he  had  been  prompted  by  the  en 
couragement  which  he  had  had  from  Andy  Longwood's 
report,  was  beginning  to  seem  inconceivably  hazardous  to 
a  transparent  soul,  who  had  never  hidden  an  emotion  in 
his  life,  or  known  a  secret  that  he  did  not  tell.  He  was 
wrestling  with  the  anxiety  of  the  consciousness  of  her  pref 
erence  and  the  necessity  to  make  her  suppose  he  knew 
nothing  of  it,  when  she  suddenly  spoke  again.  The  men 
tion  of  the  guinea-hens  reminded  her  of  their  donor,  and 
of  her  ruse  to  take  his  weapon  that  he  might  do  no  harm. 
"  Hev  ye  seen  Andy  Longwood  ter-day  ?  "  she  asked  cas 
ually,  seeking  to  know  how  far  she  had  been  successful. 

It  seemed  to  him  in  the  moment  that  she  had  opened  a 
way  for  him.  "  Yes-sum.  That 's  why  I  kem  hyar,  — 
straight,  straight  ez  I  hearn  it.  I  felt  so  happy,  —  an'  yit 
I  war  'feard  't  war  n't  true.  'T  war  true,  Marcelly  ?  'T  war 
true,  though  ?  " 

She  looked  up  at  him,  startled  and  amazed  at  his  vehe 
mence  ;  her  eyes  dilated,  wonder  in  every  eloquent  trait. 
"  What 's  kem  over  ye,  Clem  Sanders  ?  Air  what  true  ?  " 
she  asked  bluntly. 

"  Marcelly,"  he  replied,  his  voice  trembling,  "  don't  git 
mad  at  me,  no  matter  what  happens  ;  ye  know  I  ain't  school- 
lamed  like  yer  dad."  This  was  merely  a  fortuitous  stroke 


252        THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOM  SEDGE   COVE. 

of  policy,  for  his  simple  nature  was  not  capable  of  attempt 
ing  genuine  strategy.  "  I  dunno  ef  ye  hev  furgot,  but  Andy 
Longwood  said  ez  ye  'lowed  ter  him  ye  war  goin'  ter  marry 
me  ;  an'  the  Lord  knows  I  hev  lived  an'  breathed  jes'  in 
that  hope,  'pears  ter  me,  ever  sence  I  war  alive'  but "  —  He 
stopped  precipitately. 

Her  face  was  scarlet ;  her  eyes  flashed  with  a  fire  that 
seemed  to  scorch  him. 

"  Did  ye  b'lieve  that  ?  "  she  cried  contemptuously.  "  Did 
ye  b'lieve  I  'd  'low  sech  ez  that  ?  —  an'  I  never  did,  'ceptin' 
ter  nod  my  head  when  dad  said  ez  much,  kase  the  doctor 
'lowed  we  must  n't  argufy  an'  cross  dad,  an'  git  him  sot 
catawampus  in  his  temper.  Did  ye  'low  I  'd  say  in  earnest 
I  'd  marry  a  man  ez  never  axed  me  ?  " 

For  once  in  his  life  Clem  spoke  to  her  with  eager  and 
decisive  opposition.  But  even  then  it  was  prefaced  with 
his  suave  "  Yes-sum."  "  But,  shucks,  Marcelly !  Talk 
about  axin'  !  Ye  know  I  'd  hev  axed  enny  day  in  the  year 
ez  I  war  n't  afeard  ter.  Ye  air  obleeged  ter  know  't  war 
jes'  kase  I  war  afeard  ye  'd  say  no.  I  kep'  a-puttiri'  it  off, 
'lowin'  mebbe  suthin'  mought  happen  ter  make  ye  think  mo* 
of  me." 

She  was  not  appeased.  "  Waal,"  she  observed  calmly, 
"  I  war  n't  in  earnest.  I  never  thunk  about  marryin'  ye. 
An'  I  won't." 

"  Yes-sum,"  said  Clem,  crestfallen.  "  But  ye  '11  never 
git  nobody,  Marcelly,  ez  would  try  harder  ter  do  jes'  like 
ye  wanted  him  ter.  I  would  n't  cross  yer  notions  no  way 
ye  could  fix  'em.  These  other  boys  in  the  Cove,  ef  ye  air 
thinkin'  'bout  choosin'  one  out'n  Brumsaidge  "  — 

"  I  don't  choose  folks.  I  'lowed  I  hed  tole  ye  that,"  she 
responded,  holding  her  head  very  high  on  her  fine  and  deli 
cate  neck,  and  looking  at  him  with  her  definite  straight  eye 
brows  frowningly  meeting  above  her  dark  eyes,  that  seemed 
to  him  unnaturally  clear  and  brilliant. 

"  Yes-sum.    But  howsomdever  these  other  boys  air  power- 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOM  SEDGE  COVE.   253 

ful  set  in  thar  way,  an'  some  o'  thar  ways  ain't  pritty  ones." 
This  as  closely  approached  slander  as  the  good  Clem  San 
ders  could  compass.  "  They  air  toler'ble  good  boys,"  he 
felt  constrained  to  qualify,  "but  they  wouldn't  be  good  fur 
ye  ter  marry.  I  tell  ye,  now,  Marcelly,  ye  mought  find  a 
smarter  man  mos*  enny whar,  —  though  not  a  better  black 
smith,  —  but  ye  '11  never  find  nobody  ez  loves  ye  like  I  do, 
an'  would  take  the  pains  ter  please  ye  like  I  would,  ef  ye 
war  ter  marry  me." 

"  I  hev  got  no  sort'n  notion  o'  doin'  jt,  —  never  bed,"  she 
declared  bluntly. 

"  Yes-sum,"  said  Clem,  infinitely  cast  down. 

"  I  dunno  ez  I  hev  got  ter  marry  enny  o'  the  boys  in  the 
Cove.  I  dunno  ez  I  hev  got  ter  marry  ennybody,"  she  said 
loftily.  "  Some  folks  don't." 

"  Yes-sum  ;  but  did  n't  they  always  'pear  ter  you-uns  ter 
be  powerful  lonesome  ?  "  he  suggested  humbly. 

This  did  not  altogether  fail  to  take  effect.  She  pondered 
silently  for  a  time  on  this  phase  of  a  single  life.  Presently 
she  remarked :  — 

"  1  would  n't  be  no  lonesomer  snigle  'n  I  'd  be  married  ter 
some  folks." 

He  interpreted  this  as  a  thrust  at  his  own  lack  of  certain 
congenial  and  companionable  qualities  which  she  esteemed 
essential. 

*"  Yes-sum,"  he  replied,  more  cut  down  still. 

Perhaps  she  felt  some  pang  of  pity  for  his  disappoint 
ment  ;  perhaps  she  was  not  now  so  angry  as  at  first,  because 
of  his  very  natural  mistake,  and  thought  it  the  least  brutal 
method  of  disposing  of  his  superfluous  heart  to  argue  the  tin- 
congeniality  of  his  interests  and  pursuits. 

"  An'  air  yer  ways  so  powerful  pritty,  Clem  ?  "  she  de 
manded.  "  Cornsiderin'  how  close  we  neighbor  the  forge, 
an'  hear  the  dancin',  an'  the  fiddlin',  an'  the  wrastlin',  an' 
laffin'  ez  goes  on  thar  of  a  evenin','1  never  expected  ter  live 
ter  hear  yer  ways  called  pritty  ones." 


254       THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE. 

"  Yes-sum,"  said  Clem.  "  But  ef  ye  'd  marry  me  I  'd 
stay  home  of  a  evenin',  an'  that  thar  forge  would  be  dark 
an'  still  enough  I  '11  be  bound." 

';  Waal,  yer  wii'e,  whoever  she  '11  be,  won't  want  sech 
fiddlin',  an'  daiicin',  an'  singin'  round  her  in  her  house  of  a 
evenin'  ez  ye  hev  been  useter,  Clem.  I  can't  think  o'  ye  no 
ways  but  ez  cavortin',  —  though  ye  air  mighty  peaceable 
an'  quiet,  an'  kin  behave  some  similar  ter  a  mouse  whenst 
ye  kem  visitin'  the  gals." 

"  Yes-sum,"  said  poor  Clem.  "  But  I  don't  visit  no  gals 
but  you-uns." 

"  Laws-a-massy !  An'  jes'  think  how  Is'bel  an'  granny 
hev  been  gin  over  ter  pride,  bein'  ez  they  'lowed  ye  kem 
a-visitin'  them  !  "  There  was  a  wicked  gleam  in  her  eye  as 
she  sped  this  dart.  "  Naw,  naw !  everybody  knows  the 
name  that  thar  forge  hev  got !  " 

"  Yes-sum."  He  hesitated  for  a  moment ;  then  he  said, 
looking  at  her,  his  jaw  growing  square  and  determined,  his 
expression  changing  with  this  infusion  of  more  mundane 
matters  into  his  thoughts,  kiThar  ain't  a-goin'  ter  be  enriy 
mo'  o'  them  queer  midnight  goin's-on  at  the  forge,  Marcelly, 
arter  this,  — ye  mark  my  words."  Then,  as  if  he  fancied 
he  had  spoken  too  roughly,  he  hastened  to  say,  apropos  of 
nothing,  "  Yes-sum,"  and  cleared  his  throat. 

Marcella  sat  feeling  stunned  for  a  moment.  Could  he 
have  known,  in  some  inexplicable  way,  of  the  discovery  that 
she  had  made  at  the  forge  in  the  wild,  stormy  midnight  ? 
Was  he  indeed  aware  of  the  intrusion  of  Jake  Baintree 
and  the  stranger,  who  worked  the  bellows,  and  wielded  the 
hammer  and  sledge,  and  were  frightened  when  interrupted, 
and  who  came  forth  only  to  give  aid  for  humanity's  sake  ? 
She  would  not  forget  that  they  gave  aid,  whatever  might 
happen,  she  said  to  herself. 

He  did  not  interpret  her  expression  aright ;  he  only  saw 
that  she  was  at  a  loss. 

"  Hain't  ye  never  hearn  what  happened  at  the  forge  arter 
Pa' son  Donnard  'lowed  he  seen  the  devil  thar  ?  " 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.   255 

"Naw,"  she  said,  fixing  her  eyes  gravely  on  him. 

Her  interest  in  the  subject  emboldened  him  to  sit  beside 
her  on  the  log,  but  as  he  bent  forward,  leaning  his  elbows 
on  his  knees  and  looking  at  her,  he  only  saw  her  profile  ; 
for  she  listened  silently,  flattering  him  with  her  air  of  atten 
tion,  but  did  not  turn  her  head. 

"  Waal,  arter  the  pa'son  seen  the  devil  thar  I  felt  toler'ble 
tormented,  an'  sorter  kep'  a  lookout  on  the  forge ;  an'  one 
night,  'bout  midnight "  (Marcella's  foot  stirred  uneasily 
amongst  the  pine  cones ;  her  face  was  a  trifle  paler  than  its 
wont;  her  lips  were  slightly  compressed),  "I  hearn  the 
hammer  an'  the  sledge  arpoundin'  an'  the  bellows  a-roarin', 
an'  fur  all  't  war  a  moonlight  night  "  — 

"  Oh,  moonlight !  "  exclaimed  Marcella  with  a  note  of 
relief. 

"  Yes-sum,  bright  moonlight  —  but  I  could  see  the  forge 
fire  a-flarin'  through  the  chinkin'.  Waal,  I  dunno  what  got 
inter  me,  but  I  felt  obligated  ter  know  ef  that  thar  dead 
Clem  Sanders —  Ye  hearn'  bout  him,  didn't  ye,  what 
pa'son  purtended  ter  see  ?  "  He  spoke  with  acerbity  and  a 
curling  lip. 

Marcella  nodded. 

"  I  wanted  ter  see  ef  he  war  thar  agin,  with  the  devil  mebbe 
a-strikin'  fur  him.  Waal,  I  war  so  darned  clumsy  an'  awk- 
'ard  I  fell  down  flop  agin  the  window-shutter ;  an'  I  hev 
got  purty  fur  ter  fall,  an'  thar 's  a  heap  o'  me  ter  topple,  an* 
I  like  ter  hev  busted  the  side  o'  the  house  down.  An'  when 
I  got  up  thar  war  no  light,  nor  sound,  nor  nuthin' ;  jes'  a 
leetle  mite  o'  a  live-coal  on  the  ha'th,  an'  the  anvil  a-singin'. 
Waal,  I  'lowed  'twar  Satan,  till  Jube  Donnard  —  ye  know, 
the  pa'son's  son,  a  darned  tattler  !  —  he  went  an'  tole  it  all 
ter  his  dad.  An'  ef  ye  '11  b'lieve  me,  that  thar  godly  old 
man  did  go  an'  prop  hisself  on  the  side  o'  the  mounting  ter 
git  a  view  o'  Satan.  —  wanted  ter  see  him  !  " 

"  The  pa'son  !  "  exclaimed  Marcella,  vaguely  scandalized. 

"  Yes-sum,  the  pa'son  !     An'  I  tole  Jube  I  would  never 


256   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

listen  ter  him  preach  no  mo'  —  enny  godly  man  ez  hankered 
ter  view  the  devil  agin,  arter  hevin'  viewed  him  wunst !  An' 
a-sldtterin'  out  in  the  middle  o'  the  night,  like  he  war  one 
o'  the  boys,  along  with  that  thar  caper-y  Jube !  Sometimes 
I  feel  like  /  be  too  pious  myself  tev  'sociate  with  the  pa'son's 
son.  An'  Jube  up-ed  an'  'lowed  ez  he  did  n't  keer  whether 
I  went  ter  hell  through  neglectin'  means  o'  grace  an'  the 
pa'son's  sermons  or  jes'  from  active  wickedness,  an'  ez  his 
fambly  hed  no  contrac'.  ez  he  knowed  on,  ter  land  me  on 
the  golden  shore !  Jube  say  him  an'  his  mam  ain't  the 
pa'son,  an'  nuthin'  like  it,  an'  the  congregation  hain't  got  a 
mortgage  on  nare  hair  o'  thar  heads,  though  the  pa'son 
'lows  ez  his  flock  owns  him." 

Clem  repeated  the  sharp  retort  of  his  friend  without  any 
show  of  temper,  as  if  he  were  merely  interested  in  setting 
the  purport  of  the  conversation  before  Marcella.  She  kept 
auite  still,  her  hands  holding  the  bunch  of  herbs,  her  eyes 
meditative  and  yet  attentive.  She  seemed  to  pursue  a  defi 
nite  train  of  thought,  which  she  in  some  sort  modified  and 
adjusted  in  reference  to  his  disclosure.  He  had  never  talked 
so  much  in  all  his  life.  He  found  a  new  and  unique  pleas 
ure  in  sitting  beside  Marcella,  feeling  liberated  in  some  sort, 
since  Mrs.  Strobe's  sarcasms  no  longer  paralyzed  his  simple 
modes  of  thought,  nor  Isabel's  pert  interruptions  embar 
rassed  him  and  cut  him  short.  Marcella  seemed  willing, 
nay,  eager,  to  hear,  and  how  glad  he  was  to  tell  !  Always 
afterward  he  associated  the  place  with  that  happy  hour :  the 
drear  season  of  autumn  seemed  the  choicest  time  of  the 
year.  How  should  he  take  heed  now  that  the  splendor  of 
the  turn  of  the  leaf  was  but  a  hectic  red  and  presage  of 
death ;  that  the  sun  would  be  but  a  cold  glitter  for  a  time  ; 
that  snows  were  garnering  somewhere  ;  and  many  things 
light  and  blithe  —  that  bird  in  its  poise  on  the  golden-rod, 
the  squirrel  frisking  along  the  tree,  even  a  deer  of  which 
they  had  a  sudden  glimpse,  approaching  in  a  silent  interval, 
thrusting  out  its  graceful  head,  with  startled  lustrous  eyes, 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       257 

from  the  laurel  not  twenty  yards  away,  and  disappearing  at 
the  sight  of  them  —  all  should  die  under  the  rigors  of 
the  hard  winter  coming.  He  saw  only  how  Marcella's 
hair  waved,  how  fair  of  face  she  was,  how  the  sunlight 
crept  to  her  feet  and  crouched  there,  like  a  tame  thing, 
casting  a  yellow  brilliancy  into  her  brown  eyes  as  she 
looked  down.  It  was  an  undreamed-of  delight,  this  choice 
confidence,  and  she  might  be  sure  of  hearing  all  to  which 
she  would  listen;  he  had  forgotten  the  doubtful  past  and 
his  fears  for  the  future  in  the  rich  flavor  of  the  exquisite 
present. 

"  Ye  see,  Marcelly,  Jube  air  one  o'  them  boys  ez  tell  all 
they  know,  an'  ain't  got  no  sort'n  jedgmint ;  though  he  's 
good-hearted,  Jube  is,  an'  him  an'  me  useter  play  roun'  the 
wood-pile  in  the  chips  tergether  'fore  we-uns  could  walk. 
An'  so  we  be  toler'ble  friendly.  An'  though  Jube  tells  on 
me  ter  the  pa'son,  he  kerns  back  an'  tells  on  the  pa'son 
ter  me." 

His  eyes  twinkled,  for  he  thought  that,  having  little  to 
lose,  he  might  endure  Jube's  frankness  better  than  the  par 
son,  who  must  be  flawless.  Then  his  face  grew  grave  with 
a  certain  reflective  intentness ;  a  prescient  excitement  was 
kindling  in  his  eye. 

"  Waal,  Jube  say  that  night  whilst  him  an'  the  pa'son 
roosted  like  two  demented  tur-rkey  gawblers  up  thar  on 
them  big  bluffs  right  above  my  forge,  they  seen  no  devils, 
but  about  midnight  two  men  kem  along  the  road,  —  power 
ful  dark  night  it  war ;  they  kem  gingerly  along,  an'  Jube 
say  they  stopped  right  thar  in  front  o'  the  door  o'  the  shop. 
Jube  say  he  knows,  kase  he  hearn  one  o'  'em  rattlin'  the 
latch  I  put  on  them  big  doors  ter  keep  'em  from  blowin' 
open  in  the  wind.  An'  then  Jube,  stiddier  waitin'  fur  'em 
ter  go  in  an'  see  what  they  'd  do,  jes'  'lowed  he  'd  skeer  'em, 
an'  he  flapped  his  arms  an'  crowed  —  Ye  ever  hear  Jube 
crow  ?  "  he  demanded  suddenly,  breaking  off. 

She  shook  her  head  slowly  from  side  to  side,  although 


258       THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOM  SEDGE   COVE. 

she  refrained  from  saying  that  she  did  not  covet  the  privi 
lege  in  future. 

"  Yes-sum.  Waal,  sir,"  continued  Clem  in  pride,  "  he  kin 
crow  like  a  sure-enough,  reg'lar  rooster,  —  ye  'd  think  't  war 
haffen  a  dozen  poultry.  Skeered  the  pa'son,  sir,  bein'  so 
onexpected,  mighty  nigh  ter  death.  Jube  can't  keep  from 
laffin'  now  whenst  he  tells  'bout'n  it,  though  he  say  he 
knows  the  devil  will  burn  him  well  fur  laffin'  at  his  dad. 
An'  them  men,  they  hollered  an'  runned  a  leetle  way.  An' 
then  they  stopped  an'  hailed  Jube.  An'  all  of  a  suddenty 
the  sheet-lightning  flickered  up,  broad  an'  steady,  an'  he 
seen  who  't  war." 

Marcella's  cheek  was  burning  ;  her  excited  bright  eyes 
were  still  cast  down,  and  how  the  sunlight  at  her  feet  flared 
luminously  into  their  limpid  depths-!  She  could  hardly 
wait  to  hear,  although  she  knew  before  she  heard. 

Clem  lowered  his  voice  to  a  husky  murmur.  "  'T  war 
Jake  Baintree,  one  of  'em,"  he  said.  "  An'  the  t'other 
Jube  hed  never  seen  afore.  —  dressed  diffe'nt,  some  similar 
ter  town  folks,  some  o'  the  boys  say,  from  what  Jube  tells  : 
tall,  with  sandy  whiskers,  an'  light,  an'  quick-steppin'.  Oh, 
Jube  will  know  him  agin,  ef  ever  he  gits  a  show  at  him  !  " 

There  was  a  sort  of  savage  exultation  in  his  voice,  and 
in  his  face  as  he  nodded  his  head  to  one  side  with  a  burly 
gesture  of  triumphant  forecast. 

Marcella  felt  a  sudden  cold  thrill.  She  turned  her  head, 
and  her  eyes  met  his.  "  How  does  Jube  expec'  ter  see  him 
agin  ?  What  's  he  contrivin'  ter  do  ?  " 

Even  Clem  Sanders  hesitated,  conscious  that  in  this  lure 
of  happiness  he  had  been  led  too  far.  The  secret  he  would 
not  have  deemed  safe  with  any  woman.  Had  she  been  the 
wife  that  he  wished  to  make  her,  he  might  have  contrived 
to  shift,  to  evade,  to  postpone.  She  was  not  married  to 
him,  and  he  could  deny  her  nothing. 

u  Yes-sum,"  he  began,  with  polite  preface ;  "  but  don't 
let  them  boys  know  ez  I  hev  tole  ye,  Marcelly,  else  they  'd 


THE  DESPOT    OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       259 

string  me  up  ter  a  tree.     Thar  's  a  lot  of  'em  a-layin'  fur 
Jake  an'  that  strange  man." 

"  What  air  they  a-goin'  ter  do  ter  'em  ?  "  Her  voice  had 
risen  from  its  mellow  contralto  tones  into  a  husky  shrillness 
that  was  a  note  of  fear,  presaging  horror. 

Clem  Sanders's  sensibilities  were  not  acute,  and  he  did 
not  recognize  its  meaning. 

"  That  depends  on  what  sort'n  account  they  kin  gin  o' 
tharselves." 

He  was  flattering  himself  that  he  had  succeeded  in  so  in 
teresting  her,  and  as  he  looked  at  her  his  long  and  narrow 
eyes  smiled  brightly,  in  the  full  faith  of  pleasing  her. 

"  Gin  an  account  o'  tharselves  ?  "  she  murmured  ponder- 
ingly.  She  remembered  how  fragmentary  and  indefinite  had 
been  their  explanation  of  their  intrusion  at  the  forge  and  of 
the  stranger's  presence  in  the  mountains.  This,  she  was 
sure,  would  fail  to  satisfy  aught  but  gratitude  that  in  its 
fullness  was  content  to  abate  even  curiosity.  How  should 
it  satisfy  antagonistic,  suspicious,  even  cruel  men,  who  had 
set  themselves  to  spy,  to  judge,  to  punish  ?  The  rough  habits 
of  the  region,  the  lawless  justice  sometimes  meted  out  by 
the  arbitrary  tribunals  who  claimed  the  preservation  of  local 
morals  as  within  their  exclusive  jurisdiction,  were  only  too 
familiar  to  her.  She  realized  with  a  quick  throb  of  the 
heart  that  these  men  were  in  danger.  They  had  involved 
themselves  in  mystery  ;  their  midnight  intrusions  at  the 
forge  could  hardly  be  easily  explained  and  innocently  ac 
counted  for,  or  they  would  not  have  been  secret.  She  was 
aware,  too,  of  that  insurmountable  inequality  which  charac 
ter  creates  in  equal  conditions.  Had  it  been  Bassett  and 
Jube  Donnard  who,  for  secret  purposes  of  their  own,  had 
invaded  the  smith's  forge  and  cloaked  their  comings  and 
goings  in  mystery,  it  would  have  been  hard  to  rouse  Broom- 
sedge  Cove  to  any  sense  of  wrong  that  the  owner  might 
have  sustained,  or  any  threatened  security  of  the  public 
peace  and  honor.  Far  less  leniently  regarded  would  be 


260   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE, 

the  same  deeds  wrought  in  the  same  way  by  Jake  Baintree, 
who  according  to  public  opinion  had  escaped  the  gallows 
by  a  technicality,  and  this  stranger,  a  physician,  a  learned 
man,  lurking  in  his  company,  probably  seeking  to  evade 
the  vengeance  of  the  law  for  some  dark  deed  that  she  shud 
dered  to  more  definitely  imagine.  Doubtless  they  were  in 
danger. 

She  had  strong  nerves.  There  was  nothing  partisan  in 
her  manner  as  she  said,  "  How  do  ye  know  they  ever  war 
in  the  forge  a-workin'  an'  sech  ?  Ez  ter  Jube,  I  don't  set 
no  store  by  Jube's  seem'.  He  kin  see  ennytliing  he  air  a 
mind  ter,  —  or  else  say  he  hev  seen  it.  Mought  be  Satan, 
sure  enough." 

"  Yes-sum,"  acquiesced  Clem.  "  It  air  somebody  ez  ain't 
used  ter  the  blacksmithin'  business,  fur  no  good  smith  would 
hev  let  that  thar  leetle  bend  in  my  leetle  tongs  git  bruk  off 
that-a-way,  an'  then  botch  it  a-mendin'  it.  That  hurt  my 
f eelin's  wuss  'n  all,  —  the  way  he  done  the  work."  He 
shook  his  head,  grieved  at  the  artificer's  incapacity.  "  But 
sence  Jube  knowed  ez  't  war  Jake  Baintree  at  the  latch,  the 
boys  don't  b'lieve  in  the  devil  no  mo',  —  leastwise  not  at 
the  forge,  'thout  it 's  him  along  o'  Jake.  Jake  's  ekal  ter 
ennythin'.  Ye  know  he  killed  Sam'l  Keale." 

"  He  never !  "  Marcella  burst  forth  suddenly.  "  Dad  say 
he  never !  " 

"  Yes-sum."  Clem  made  haste  to  agree.  "  Ye  know, 
though,  that 's  what  them  fellers  up  an'  down  declar'." 

Marcella  was  silent  for  a  moment,  regretting  her  display 
of  feeling,  but  Clem,  alarmed  for  the  progress  which  he 
fancied  he  had  made  in  her  good  graces,  proceeded  with 
the  subject  in  which  she  so  evidently  felt  an  interest. 

"  They  —  whoever  they  air  —  hain't  been  ter  the  forge 
more  'n  a  few  times,  an'  that 's  a  fac',  —  the  night  whenst  I 
saw  it  lighted  up,  an'  the  time  when  they  tried  ter  git  in, 
an'  Jube  skeered  'em  off ;  arter  that  the  boys  began  ter  set 
up  reg'lar  fur  'em." 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.   '261 

"  "Whar  ?  "  she  exclaimed,  aghast ;  then  recollecting  her 
self,  she  asked  more  calmly,  "  Wharbouts,  Clem  ?  " 

"  At  my  house.  Night  arter  night  'bout  ten  of  'em  hev 
kem  thar  with  thar  rifles,  an'  watched  that  thar  forge  fur 
a  glimge  o'  light  through  the  chinkin',  an'  listened  fur  the 
hammer  an'  sledge.  But  them  two  hev  n't  never  lit  up  the 
forge  but  twict,  —  the  time  I  seen  it,  an'  Gid  Dake  seen  it 
wunst  afore  that.  Though  some  say  they  b'lieve  't  war 
lighted  that  night  o'  the  big  storm  ;  the  boys  kem  ter 
watch,  but  it  'peared  so  durned  rainy  they  'lowed  't  war  n't 
no  use." 

So  the  vigilantes  had  nodded  while  she  made  her  perilous 
journey  to  the  forge,  that  terrible  night,  and  brought  help 
thence.  She  trembled  to  think  how  slight  a  thing  had 
saved  the  two  intruders. 

"  They  hain't  done  much  harm,  —  jes'  three  times  sence 
the  first  of  August,  an'  this  air  deep  in  the  fall  o'  the  year," 
she  commented. 

"  Yes-sum,"  assented  Clem.  "  But  nobody  knows  what 
harm  they  air  doin',  an'  what  mo'  they  air  goin'  ter  do.  Ef 
it 's  good,  't  ain't  apt  ter  be  hid." 

"  I  dunno  who  sets  them  Brumsaidge  boys  up  ter  jedge," 
she  said  angrily,  abandoning  argument  for  more  facile  de 
preciation. 

"  Yes-sum,"  said  Clem  blandly.  "  But  they  ain't  the  sort 
ter  wait  ter  be  set ;  they  jes'  set  tharse'fs  up,  —  with  thar 
rifles  ter  prop  'em,"  he  added,  carrying  out  the  figure. 

There  was  a  troubled  restlessness  in  her  anxious  bright 
eyes,  a  pathetic  droop  in  her  red  lips.  She  looked  deeply 
thoughtful,  careful,  plotting,  as  she  said :  — 

"I  wonder  at  ye,  Clem  Sanders,  knowin'  ezye  do  ez  sech 
ez  that  air  agin  the  law,  to  capture  them  men  ;  an'  ef  thar 
'count  o'  tharselves  don't  suit  ye  foolish  Brumsaidge  pates, 
a-shootin'  them  two  fellers,  or  stringin'  'em  up.  An'  ye 
a-lettin'  them  spies  an'  lynchers  ter  meet  at  yer  house  ter 
watch  an'  lie  in  wait  I  " 


262   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

"  Yes-sum.  Laws-a-massy,  Marcelly,"  exclaimed  Clem, 
enlightened  and  precipitate,  "  ef  ye  don't  want  'em  ter  kern 
ter  my  house  an'  spy,  I  '11  run  'em  every  one  off  from  thar, 
• —  every  mother's  son  of  'em,  ef  I  hev  ter  shoot  a  hole 
through  every  man's  head  ter  git  him  started.  Say  the 
word,  Marcelly !  "  he  cried,  in  the  enthusiasm  of  his  pro 
spective  obedience.  "  Say  the  word  !  " 

Marcella  was  mechanically  tearing  the  herbs  into  bits  in 
her  trembling  hands,  as  she  sat  and  thought,  —  significant 
thoughts,  since  the  lives  of  two  men,  perchance,  hung  upon 
them. 

''That  wouldn't  do  no  good,"  she  remarked  presently. 
"  They  'd  jes'  take  tharselves  ter  watchin'  somewhar  else." 
After  a  moment  she  added  bitterly,  "  Ye  know  how  sech 
men  be  :  gin  'em  a  notion  arter  blood,  an'  it 's  no  mo'  use 
ter  call  'em  off  'n  't  is  ter  blow  yer  horn  fur  a  hound  ez  air 
followin'  on  a  hot  scent.  Thar  's  some  hound  an'  some 
painter  an'  some  fox  in  sech  men,"  the  soft-faced  young 
cynic  declared. 

11  Yes-sum,"  faltered  Clem  Sanders.  He  sat  dumfounded 
for  a  moment,  the  significance  of  her  troubled  mien  grad 
ually  dawning  on  his  slow  perceptions.  "  Laws-a-massy, 
Marcelly,"  he  cried,  "ef  ye  want  me  ter,  I'll  jes'  let 
them  men  work  in  my  forge  ez  a  constancy,  scot-free.  I 
won't  gredge  'em  nuthin',  though  they  bruk  up  every 
tool  in  my  shop,  an'  "  — his  face  clouded  —  "mended  'em 
arterward.  I  will  say  I  never  see  sech  work,  —  the  man 
oughter  be  'shamed  !  I  dunno  whar  in  Kingdom  Come  he 
could  hev  larnt  his  trade,  —  sech  larnin'  ez  he  hev  got. 
But  I  '11  take  Jake  Baintree  an'  that  strange  man,  ef  he  war 
the  devil,  inter  partnership,  ef  't  will  please  you-uns.  That 's 
all  I  live  fur,  Marcelly,  —  ter  please  you-uns.  Ef  ye  'will 
marry  me,"  he  continued,  leaning  nearer  to  her,  —  "  ef  ye  '11 
marry  me  "  — 

"  Oh,"  exclaimed  the  girl,  with  a  gesture  of  impatient 
repudiation,  "  Ye  air  so  tormentin'  tiresome." 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOM  SEDGE  COVE.   263 

"  Yes-sura,"  said  Clem,  drawing  back,  rebuked,  but  not 
alienated. 

"  Would  enny  other  mortal  on  the  yearth  'low  I  'd  marry 
a  man  so  ez  ter  git  his  cornsent  fur  two  other  idle  idjits  ter 
hev  the  run  of  his  forge  ?  " 

Clem  thought  that  it  would  be  better  for  all  concerned  if 
the  "  other  idjits  "  were  idle,  but  he  only  murmured,  "  Naw- 
'm,"  and  listened  with  respectful  and  earnest  attention  as 
she  went  on. 

"  I  ain't  got  no  wish  'bout'n  'em,  'ceptin'  I  don't  want 
'em  kilt  nor  hurted  no  ways,  — jes'  fur  thar  sake,  not  mine  ; 
jes'  kase  they  air  folks,  an'  hev  got  a  right  ter  live  till  thar 
Maker  calls  'em.  Takes  a  man  ter  expec'  ter  git  suthin'  fur 
hisself  ter  pay  him  fur  every  leetle  favior  he  does  fur  other 
folks." 

She  was  fast  becoming  pessimistic  under  the  stress  of  her 
fears,  and  her  perplexities,  and  her  consequent  anxious  irri 
tation. 

"  Yes-sum,"  said  Clem  in  humble  concession.  Then  pluck 
ing  up,  "  I  jes'  mean  ter  say,  Marcelly,  ez  I  would  do  enny- 
thing  ter  pleasure  you-uns,  an'  ef  ye  want  them  men  ter  work 
in  my  forge,  they  kin  do  it  an'  welcome !  " 

She  looked  sharply  at  him,  seeking  to  discern  in  his  open, 
ingenuous  countenance  any  indication  that  he  divined  that  she 
had  more  definite  knowledge  of  the  intruders  than  he  had 
been  able  to  secure,  that  she  was  ready  to  scheme  for  their 
safety,  that  she  tolerated  and  continued  the  conversation  in 
their  behoof,  in  the  hope  of  further  information  for  their 
sake.  But  it  was  evident  that  Clem  Sanders,  in  the  fullness 
of  his  loyalty,  neither  questioned  her  motives  nor  even  specu 
lated  concerning  them  ;  he  accepted  all  that  she  said  and 
did  as  he  accepted  the  sunshine,  —  as  the  most  righteous 
and  beneficent  expression  of  the  generosity  of  nature.  Some 
gratitude  stirred  in  her  heart  with  the  recognition  of  the 
depth  and  sincerity  of  the  sentiment  with  which  he  regarded 
her,  and  it  was  more  gently  that  she  said  :  — 


264   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

"  Ye  could  n't  do  nutliin'  nohow,  Clem.  Wunst  them 
boys  hev  got  the  idee,  nutliin'  kin  stop  'em,  an'  ef  they  did 
n't  watch  at  yer  house  they  'd  watch  somewhar." 

"  Yes-sum,"  said  Clem. 

"  An',''  she  went  on  thoughtfully,  "  ef ,  when  they  tuk  arter 
them  men,  ye  tried  ter  stop  'em,  they  mought  slash  ye  up,  or 
shoot  ye  'mongst  'em,  an'  I  don't  want  that  ter  happen." 

His  face  was  irradiated  by  this  evidence  of  her  care  for 
him. 

"  Yes-sum  !  "  he  cried  jubilantly. 

Marcella  rose  abruptly  from  the  log.  "  I  mus'  be  goin' 
in,"  she  remarked. 

She  put  on  her  tunnel-like  sunbonnet,  and  with  the  eclipse 
of  her  face  within  its  depths  the  day  seemed  to  him  to  have 
darkened  suddenly.  She  stood  irresolute  for  a  moment, 
looking  vaguely  about  her  ;  her  attitude  denoted  despond 
ency  :  she  drew  a  long  breath  that  had  a  suggestion  of  a 
sigh,  and  then  she  picked  up  her  basket  of  eggs. 

li  Kin  I  tote  yer  basket  fur  ye,  Marcelly  ?  " 

"  Ye  could,  bein'  toler'ble  survigrous,  —  ef  I  'd  let  ye," 
she  responded  ungraciously,  still  keeping  hold  of  the  handle 
of  the  basket.  She  moved  slowly  along,  her  tread  noiseless 
upon  the  thick  carpet  of  pine  needles  ;  only  now  and  then 
her  skirts  stirred  the  fallen  leaves,  that  gave  a  sibilant  rus 
tle.  Clem  walked  humbly  beside  her,  looking  down  at  the 
baffling  sunbonnet  that  hid  her  face,  and  keeping  silence  in 
deference  to  her  mood.  All  the  world  was  still ;  the  sun 
shine  made  no  progress  from  limb  to  lirnb  of  the  dark  bare 
trees  where  it  lay  so  yellow.  And  time  was  surely  drows 
ing  somewhere.  The  sky  was  cloudless,  changeless.  Winds  ! 
—  they  were  now  a  mere  tradition  ;  the  day  had  suggestions 
that  seemed  eternal  in  its  rich,  enduring  light,  its  serene  im 
passivity.  The  shadows,  too,  were  motionless,  save  for  those 
of  the  young  mountaineers  as  they  passed  under  the  boughs. 

Marcella  paused  when  they  reached  the  fence  that  was 
the  boundary  of  Eli  Strobe's  land,  and  Clem  began  to  see 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.   265 

that  she  intended  to  take  leave  of  him  here.  There  was  a 
gap  in  the  fence  ;  some  of  the  rails  lay  half  fallen,  one  end 
upon  the  ground  and  one  supported  by  the  zigzag  structure. 
She  rested  her  basket  here,  and  glanced  up  at  him  from  the 
shadow  of  her  sunbonnet.  Her  eyes  seemed  dark  and  melan 
choly,  and  her  look  was  afar  off,  somehow,  and  he  had  a 
sense  of  distance  from  her  which  led  him  abruptly  to  ex 
claim,  "  I  ain't  said  nuthin'  ter  make  ye  mad  at  me,  hev  I, 
Marcelly  ?  " 

She  laughed  a  little.  u  Nuthin'  but  foolishness.  But 
thar  's  so  much  o'  that  in  this  world  thar  's  no  use  in  gittin* 
mad  ;  don't  make  folks  no  mo'  reasonable  ez  I  knows  on." 

"  Yes-sum.     But  ye  ain't  mad  at  me  ?  "  he  pleaded. 

"  Naw,  I  ain't,  —  I  ain't,"  she  exclaimed  impatiently  ! 
"  Good-by,"  she  added,  encouragingly. 

11  Yes-sum.  Good-by,"  the  poor  fellow  echoed  dolorously ; 
and  so  he  turned  and  took  his  way  down  the  long  lane,  leav 
ing  her  still  standing  at  the  fence.  His  heart  was  heavy 
within  him  ;  how  eager  she  had  been  to  be  rid  of  him  ! 
His  hope  had  sunk  ;  the  wound  his  rival  had  dealt  began  to 
ache.  He  felt  a  repulsion  for  all  the  familiar  world,  for  all 
the  aspects  of  the  future  as  they  shaped  themselves  before 
his  glance,  unwontedly  prescient.  Life  hardly  seemed  worth 
the  living,  and  he  had  scant  courage  to  see  it  through.  His 
mental  and  moral  atmosphere  was  all  uncharacteristic,  and 
although  he  had  not  command  of  even  the  simplest  capa 
city  to  feign,  and  made  no  effort  to  disguise  the  downcast 
spirit  in  which  he  had  returned  from  his  open  and  obvious 
mission,  the  gossips  at  the  forge  forbore,  rather  from  an  in 
tuition  of  prudence  arid  policy  than  a  merciful  desire  of 
sparing  him,  to  rally  him  upon  his  defeat.  He  was  stern 
and  gruff,  and  the  presence  of  his  cronies  grated  upon  his 
mood.  He  went  to  his  work  silently,  some  of  his  chagrin 
expending  itself  in  an  energy  of  industry,  and  the  mellow 
clanking  of  the  hammers  roused  the  echoes  to  their  wonted 
iteration ;  under  his  skill  tha  metal  grew  soft  or  hard  as  he 


266   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOM  SEDGE  COVE. 

willed,  and  for  a  time  there  was  no  indication  that  aught 
was  amiss  with  the  master  of  the  forge,  save  his  dull,  in 
tent,  and  frowning  face.  This  tense  mood  could  not  con 
tinue,  and  presently,  under  the  strain,  his  nerves  began  to 
give  way.  He  had  already  felt  some  slight  inconvenience 
from  the  inexperience  of  Jube  Donnard,  who  was  striking 
for  him  to-day,  his  own  assistant  having  gone  hunting. 
Once  so  absorbed  was  he  that,  as  he  tapped  the  iron  where 
Jube  should  strike,  he  did  not  swiftly  remove  the  hammer 
as  was  his  habit,  and  the  great  sledge,  hoisted  by  the  par 
son's  son  with  both  arms,  came  crashing  down  upon  the 
hand-hammer,  sending  it  flying  out  of  the  smith's  practiced 
hand,  and  jarring  his  arm  to  the  shoulder-blade.  In  a  sud 
den  passion  he  flung  the  bar  of  hot  metal  at  his  dodging 
volunteer  striker,  and  then  with  a  growling  oath  he  turned 
away  to  the  door. 

"  Time  ter  quit,  ennyhow,"  said  the  facile  Jube. 

For  the  great  red  sunset  was  flaring  in  at  the  widely 
opened  barn-like  doors,  and  though  the  vermilion  disk  still 
lingered  above  the  dusky  purple  mountains,  the  hunter's 
moon,  a  luminous  sphere,  pearly  and  splendid,  swung  high 
in  the  east,  with  all  its  sentiments  of  solitude  and  alien  in 
fluences,  with  all  its  brooding  nocturnal  fancies,  as  if  it  were 
alone  in  the  sky  save  for  its  familiar  the  vaguely  scintillat 
ing  star  at  the  zenith. 

"  A  clear  night,'*  said  Clem  to  himself,  with  a  sigh,  as  he 
sat  down  on  the  log  by  the  door. 

It  was  not  the  weather  signs  alone  that  gave  his  voice  its 
significant  intonation  ;  it  was  the  congruous  circumstance 
furnished  to  the  nocturnal  enterprise.  He  noted  presently 
a  dark  figure  with  a  rifle  on  its  shoulder,  crossing  the  bridge 
above  the  narrows  of  the  river,  thrown  into  bold  relief  be 
tween  the  crimson  sky  and  its  lustrous  red  reflection  in  the 
water.  The  sun  still  gave  the  current  a  glint  of  gold ;  a 
rising  vapor  borrowed  mysteries  from  the  moon,  and  the 
figure  seemed  taller  than  normal  height  as  it  disappeared  in 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.       267 

the  woods.  It  was  not  long  before  Clem  saw  another  armed 
man  approaching  from  down  the  road.  The  vigilantes  were 
gathering.  He  rose,  with  a  long-drawn  sigh,  and  closed  the 
shop  for  the  night,  —  for  all  his  cronies  were  gone,  —  and 
then  betook  himself  home  to  his  supper. 

He  had  had  no  very  definite  sentiment  in  regard  to  the 
organization  that  had  charged  itself  with  the  enterprise  of 
solving  the  mystery  of  the  intrusions  at  the  forge,  and  ad 
ministering  punishment  should  it  be  deemed  required.  It 
had  seemed  to  him,  however,  natural  and  right  enough  that 
these  enigmatical  proceedings  should,  in  the  interests  of 
public  justice,  be  subjected  to  scrutiny,  especially  as  it  had 
been  discovered  that  Jake  Baintree,  almost  universally 
considered  to  have  cheated  the  gallows,  was  concerned  in 
them.  Since,  however,  Marcella  had  set  her  face  against  the 
self-constituted  judges,  and  had  spoken  of  them  with  reproba 
tion,  his  interest,  his  sense  of  injury,  even  his  curiosity,  had 
dwindled.  He  was  conscious  of  wishing  them  all  far  enough 
from  his  premises  when,  after  leaving  his  mother  unsuspi 
ciously  washing  the  supper-dishes,  thinking  he  had  gone  to 
his  cronies  at  the  forge,  he  took  his  way  out  through  the  tall 
sere  grass  and  leafless  bushes  across  the  door-yard  to  the 
barn,  where  his  hidden  coadjutors  lurked,  awaiting  him. 

The  building  was  of  the  description  most  usual  in  the  re 
gion,  constructed  of  logs,  unhewn  and  unchinked,  with  a  loft 
and  a  wide  open  space  beneath,  where  a  wagon,  two  or  three 
plows,  and  a  sorghum-mill  stood.  The  brilliant  moonlight 
fell  through  each  crevice,  its  silver  sheen  alternating  with 
the  black  shadow  of  the  logs  ;  the  whole  place  was  pervaded 
by  this  tempered  splendor,  and  through  the  broad  open  pass- 
way  he  could  see  the  white  frost  gleam  responsive  upon  the 
expanse  of  the  fields,  on  the  rails  of  the  fence,  on  the  boughs 
of  a  great  pallid,  denuded  tree  with  its  stark  and  wintry 
shadows,  on  the  clumps  of  broad  mullein  leaves  beside  the 
door.  The  horned  heads  of  the  three  cows  were  distinct  in 
the  placid  divergent  rays,  filtering  through  the  crannies  as 


268   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

the  animals  still  stood  at  their  manger ;  and  on  the  opposite 
side  the  two  sorrel  mares  were  half  dozing-,  and  did  not  so 
much  as  cast  a  glance  toward  him  as  he  entered  the  shadowy 
place,  so  accustomed  had  they  become  to  this  in-coming  and 
out-going  of  nocturnal  visitants.  A  slim  little  filly,  however, 
hardly  larger  than  the  calf  that  stood  near  by,  came  frisking 
out  to  see  who  was  heralded  by  the  sound  of  the  step,  and 
seemed  to  consider  a  great  up-kicking  and  a  series  of  bound 
ing  gambols  on  its  wiry,  angular  legs  an  appropriate  greet 
ing  ;  then  finally  disappeared  into  the  shadows  of  its  dam's 
stall.  The  calf  suddenly  backed  its  ears,  and  sought  to  imi 
tate  the  filly's  deft  demivolt  in  a  stiff  bovine  caper ;  then 
stood  still  once  more,  earnestly  watching  Clem  as  he  made 
his  way  to  the  ladder,  the  rungs  of  which  were  very  far 
apart,  and  up  into  the  loft. 

Here  the  shadows  were  less  assertive,  for  a  rude,  square 
window  had  been  cut  in  one  of  the  gables,  and  the  moon 
light  came  through  and  lay  in  a  refulgent  rhomboidal  figure 
upon  the  floor.  An  occasional  flicker  across  it  told  of  a 
fluctuating  stir  amongst  the  cobwebs  that  hung  in  thickly 
woven  folds  from  the  rafters,  and  were  stretched  in  gossa 
mer  filaments  across  the  aperture  itself ;  sometimes,  as 
these  caught  the  light,  they  gave  out  a  silvery  glimmer, 
as  if  some  precious  metal  had  served  in  the  weaving. 
There  was  a  great  pile  of  corn  in  the  ear  in  one  corner,  and 
the  swelling  masses  of  hay  bulged  far  over  the  open  pass- 
way  beneath,  and  almost  hid  it  from  view.  Amongst  its  bil 
lows,  close  in  to  the  wall,  a  setting  hen,  with  outspread  wings, 
was  upon  her  nest ;  now  and  then  she  opened  her  small 
bright  eyes,  but  for  the  most  part  she  kept  them  calmly  shut, 
for,  timorous  though  she  was,  she  had  become  inured  to  the 
strange  conditions  of  the  place,  feeling  assured  that  what 
ever  might  result  from  the  councils  held  here,  she  and  hers 
were  not  under  consideration.  Altogether  incongruous  and 
at  variance  with  the  simple,  rural  significance  of  the  spot 
were  the  figures  of  armed  men,  that  lay  idly  and  at  ease 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       209 

upon  the  hay,  or  strode  restlessly  to  and  fro  upon  the 
quaking  flooring,  or  paused  before  the  square  moon-flooded 
window  to  look  out  upon  the  strip  of  cultivated  land,  the 
expanse  of  darkling  forest  on  every  hand,  the  violet  va 
porous  spaces  —  empty  air  —  above  the  unseen  valley,  and 
the  towering,  purple,  moonlit  ranges  looming  to  the  sky  ; 
but  most  of  all,  and  often  indeed,  they  looked  down  the 
white  winding  road  where  the  little  forge  stood  under  the 
crag,  between  the  mountains  and  the  dark  and  lustrous 
river. 

"  Hy're,  Clem,"  the  owner  of  the  premises  was  greeted, 
when  his  head  appeared  above  the  floor  as  he  slowly 
mounted  the  rungs. 

"Hy're,"  he  responded  in  a  gruff  growl. 

The  tone  and  manner  were  so  uncharacteristic  that  one 
or  two  of  the  martial  figures  striding  about  turned  and 
looked  around  at  him  in  surprise.  Bassett,  lying  on  the 
hay,  lifted  himself  upon  his  elbow,  and  demanded,  "  What 
ails  you-uns  ter  be  so  powerful  high  an'  mighty  ?  Ye  think 
ye  air  Teck  Jepson,  don't  ye  ?  " 

Clem  Sanders  said  nothing  for  a  moment.  Still  with  his 
unwonted  air  of  grave  dissatisfaction,  he  lumbered  into  the 
moonlit  place,  one  hand  in  his  pocket,  his  shoulders  slouched 
forward  as  he  peered  about  from  under  his  broad  hat-brim 
at  the  men's  faces,  as  if  he  were  seeking  to  individualize 
them,  and  mentally  calling  the  roll. 

"Whar's  Teck,  ennyhows?"  he  asked.  "He  ain't 
hyar." 

"  Not  yit,"  sneered  Bassett.  "  He  '11  be  kemin'  along 
arter  a  leetle,  a-ridin'  of  his  mare,  though  he  knows  the 
rest  o'  we-uns  'low  ez  't  ain't  safe  ter  hev  hoss  critters 
hitched  round  hyar.  Ef  all  o'  we-uns  done  that,  thar  'd  be 
enough  bosses  ter  make  ez  much  racket  ez  a  comp'ny  o' 
cavalry,  an'  them  men  would  git  a  warnin',  and  we-uns 
would  never  ketch  'em.  Ye  mark  my  words,  Teck  '11  be 
'long  d'rec'ly,  a-ridin'  like  some  great  captain." 


270   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

As  lie  spoke,  a  sudden,  distant,  undistinguished  sound 
smote  the  air. 

"What's  that?  "cried  Bassett,  half  springing  up,  and 
resting  upon  one  knee  on  the  pile  of  hay. 

"  Hush  !  "  said  one  of  the  vigilantes  near  the  moonlit 
window.  He  bent  toward  it,  his  eyes  scanning  the  empty 
road,  the  silent  woods,  and  lonely  mountains  with  the  melan 
choly  splendor  upon  them. 

The  others  stood  motionless,  listening. 

The  man  at  the  window  abruptly  turned  toward  them  his 
moonlit  face,  the  sheen  full  in  his  dilated,  excited  eyes ;  he 
held  up  one  significant  finger,  bespeaking  attention. 

For  the  sound  had  come  once  more. 


XV. 

AN  interval  of  silence  succeeded.  The  heavy,  black 
shadows  of  the  great  trees  hard  by  did  not  stir.  The  mute 
moonlight  lay  all  down  the  vacant  road,  and  rested  un 
broken  upon  the  rude  floor  of  the  loft.  The  man  at  the 
square  window  stood  motionless,  his  hand  still  uplifted,  his 
illumined  face  questioning,  intent.  The  only  sound  was  the 
vague,  lingering  stir  communicated  through  all  the  fibres  of 
the  hay  when  Bassett,  half  rising  upon  one  knee  in  its 
midst,  had  shifted  his  weight.  Suddenly  an  acorn  from  a 
chestnut-oak  fell  upon  the  roof,  with  a  loud,  imperative  ac 
cent  in  the  tense,  expectant  moment.  It  cracked  upon  the 
clapboards,  that  reverberated  with  the  ready  resonance  of 
the  void  spaces  of  the  interior,  rebounded  with  a  rattle, 
rolled  deliberately  down  the  eaves,  and  dropped  thence  to 
the  ground.  It  was  a  slight  thing,  but  if  aught  more  sig 
nificant  had  sounded  in  the  interval,  this  trivial  clamor  had 
nullified  it.  The  opportunity  to  continue  to  listen  and  iden 
tify  the  mysterious  voice  was  lost,  for  one  of  the  cows,  be 
low,  had  begun  to  low  fitfully,  and  the  rocks  close  at  hand 
prolonged  and  reduplicated  the  lingering,  melancholy  note. 

A  half-articulate  curse,  and  here  and  there  a  long-drawn 
respiration,  intimated  that  the  breathless  tension  of  expec 
tation  had  given  way. 

"'T  war  n't  nuthin'  but  a  ow-eZ,"  said  one  of  the  moun 
taineers,  who  had  paused,  as  if  petrified,  in  the  middle  of 
the  floor,  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  his  hat  on  the  back  of 
his  head.  He  had  a  sedulously  unimaginative  aspect,  as  if 
determined  to  belittle  the  occurrence  and  denude  it  of  con 
sequence  ;  and  yet  there  was  something  in  his  tone  that  in 
timated  a  hope  of  contradiction. 


272        THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOM  SEDGE   COVE. 

"Ow-eZ/  Waal,  mebbe  't  war,"  ejaculated  the  man  at 
the  window  perversely  divining  his  desire. 

"  Waal,  then,  what  did  it  sound  like  ter  you-uns  ?  "  de 
manded  the  first  speaker,  frustrated  in  argument,  and  real 
izing  that  he  would  first  have  to  foster  a  sensation  in  order 
to  assume  his  favorite  iconoclastic  role.  It  is  an  old  saying 
that  two  are  required  to  make  a  quarrel,  and  it  is  not  worn 
out  yet. 

u  Sounded  ter  me,"  put  in  the  simple  Clem,  "  like  a 
woman  a-callinV 

"  Else  a  wild-cat,  or  suthin',"  suggested  the  first  speaker. 
He  was  Peter  Bryce,  Mrs.  Bowles's  former  lover  ;  and  al 
though  he  had  survived  her  cruelty,  his  disposition  had  suc 
cumbed  to  the  souring  influences  of  disappointment,  and  his 
estimate  of  women  had  suffered. 

"Naw,  sir!  "  said  Clem,  with  a  definite  accession  of  acer 
bity,  and  becoming  communicative  under  its  stress.  "  I 
'lowed  't  war  my  mother  a-caliin'  me.  Mought  hev  been 
mistaken,  though,"  he  qualified. 

Bassett,  still  half  kneeling  in  the  billowy  hay,  in  the 
shadow  save  for  a  slender  moonbeam  falling  upon  him  from 
a  crevice  in  the  roof  above,  skein-like  and  fibrous,  turned  a 
suspicious  eye  upon  the  stalwart  young  blacksmith,  who  was 
indistinct  in  the  semi-obscurity. 

"  Clem  Sanders,"  he  said  sternly,  "  hev  ye  been  fool 
enough  ter  tell  her  'bout  we-uns,  an'  sech  ez  we  air  lookin* 
ter  do?" 

There  was  no  striding  to  and  fro  now  ;  all  the  burly 
armed  figures  were  still  and  silent  for  a  moment,  their  eyes, 
whether  distinct  and  shining  in  the  moonlight,  or  barely  dis 
cerned  in  the  shadow,  fixed  with  one  accord  upon  Clem 
Sanders,  who  needed  all  his  courage  to  face  the  suspicion 
of  treachery  that  they  expressed. 

"  Of  course  I  never.  What  would  I  be  a-tellin'  mam 
sech  ez  that  fur,  in  the  name  o'  common  sense?  She  be 
a-callin'  me,  I  reckon,  ter  feed  some  apple-parin's  ter  the 
peegs,  fur  all  I  know." 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       273 

There  was  a  momentary  silence  ;  then  discerning  the  dis 
tinctly  sullen  note  in  his  reply,  Bassett  found  the  tact  to 
say :  — 

'"  Ye  know,  Clem,  we  hain't  got  no  objection  ter  Mis' 
Sanders,  'ceptin'  her  bein'  a  woman  ;  bes'  one  in  the  worl', 
though.  But  ye  know.  Clem,  't  ain't  safe  ter  trest  'em  with 
sech.  They  tell  everythin'  they  know,  an'  they  hain't  got 
no  sense  ter  reason  on  jestice  an'  sech  ;  't  would  jes'  let 
them  men  plumb  off,  ef  enny  woman  war  ter  git  a-holt  o' 
it.  T  won't  do  ter  trest  'em  with  sech." 

"  Nor  with  nuthin'  else,"  said  the  cynical  Peter  Bryce, 
speaking  from  the  fullness  of  his  own  experience,  but  with 
an  abstract  application  to  the  whole  sex  that  gave  Clem 
Sanders  no  offense  for  his  mother's  sake,  and  left  him  at 
liberty  to  suffer  sundry  pangs  of  regret  that  beset  him  at 
the  recollection  of  his  disclosure  to  Marcella.  He  threw 
himself  down  on  the  hay,  close  to  the  wall,  his  hat  pulled 
far  over  his  brooding  eyes,  his  elbow  upon  the  elastic  masses, 
and  resting  his  head  in  his  hand.  The  cat,  in  a  crevice  be 
tween  the  unchinked  logs,  looked  around  at  him  with 
lustrous,  recognizing  eyes,  and,  kitten-like,  she  put  out  a 
white,  velvety  paw  with  a  feint  of  touching  his  sunburned 
hand,  falling  short  by  an  inch.  Then  she  once  more  gazed 
calmly  out,  drawing  her  tail  about  her,  and  seeming  always 
to  rise  slightly,  as  she  purringly  closed  and  unclosed  the 
nails  of  her  fore-paws.  Her  shadow  on  the  floor,  above 
that  of  the  prostrate  man,  was  like  a  crouching  tiger,  ready 
to  spring. 

"  Can't  trest  wimmen  with  nuthin',"  asseverated  Peter 
Bryce  loudly,  for  the  cynic  is  rarely  ready  to  enjoy  alone 
his  discoveries  in  human  nature.  He  calls  in  all  his  world 
to  help  him  make  merry  over  the  distortions  of  the  poor, 
warped  thing  before  it  can  get  itself  away. 

"  Waal,  now,  the  Lord  made  'em,"  expostulated  an  el 
derly,  grizzled  fellow.  It  was  not  altogether  piety  which  an 
imated  him.  His  threatening,  lowering  mien  bespoke  a 


274       THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE. 

personal  interest.  He  had  seven  daughters,  when  he  would 
have  infinitely  preferred  seven  sons.  He  had,  in  each  in 
stance,  absolved  himself  from  all  obligation  to  feel  any  special 
affection  for  these  young  people,  who  persisted  in  being  so 
great  a  shock  to  his  prejudices  ;  he  had  sought  to  steel  him 
self  in  indifference,  and  in  his  judgment  that  each  was  an 
affliction  and  a  dead  weight.  But  poor  human  nature  is  weak 
at  best.  His  seven  afflictions,  all  unabashed,  proceeded  to 
entwine  themselves  about  his  rude  heartstrings  as  valiantly 
as  could  any  seven  sons.  When  he  became  conscious  of  this, 
he  applied  such  simple  philosophy  as  his  untutored  brain 
could  evolve  to  devising  excuses  for  them,  as  it  were ;  and 
thence  he  advanced  to  insistence  upon  their  equality  —  n&y, 
superiority  to  any  seven  sons  that  could  be  mustered  in 
Broomsedge  Cove.  "  The  Lord  made  wimmen,"  he  sol 
emnly  declared. 

"  By  accident,  I  'm  thinkin',"  said  Bassett. 

"  'Twar  n't  no  job  ter  be  proud  of,"  echoed  Dake. 

"  War  they  made  a-purpose  so  durned  changeable  ?  "  de 
manded  Bryce. 

"  An'  so  onreasonable  ?  "  said  Bassett. 

"  An'  sech  a  tongue  onto  all  of  'em  ?  "  Dake  suggested. 

"  An'  no  answer  but  '  Bekase  't  is,'  ter  every  why  ?  "  said 
Peter  Bryce. 

The  father  of  the  seven  afflictions  looked  from  one  to 
the  other,  his  eyes  vigilant,  like  a  creature  at  bay.  He 
seemed  to  have  a  large  contract  on  his  hands,  but  he  was 
inured,  in  his  paternal  charge,  to  large  contracts,  and  thus  he 
was  not  altogether  dismayed.  Perhaps  in  the  exclusively 
feminine  association  at  home  he  had  learned  something  of 
the  potency  of  feminine  logic,  and  of  the  futility  of  impos 
ing  upon  one's  capacities  the  devising  of  answers  to  cate 
gorical  posers.  He  took  refuge  in  a  broad,  unimpeachable 
proposition,  which  he  delivered  with  all  the  impressiveness 
of  refutation.  "  The  Lord  made  wimmen,"  he  solemnly 
asseverated  anew,  as  if  piety  forbade  any  criticism  of  the 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       275 

supreme  handiwork,  and  on  this  ground  defying  contradic 
tion. 

<;  An'  what  diff'ence  is  that  ?  "  demanded  Bassett,  with  a 
sneer  that  the  moonlight  accented,  glittering  on  his  teeth. 

"  Who  hev  said  contrariwise  ?  "  echoed  Dake. 

"  The  Lord  made  'em,"  the  paterfamilias  again  averred, 
with  an  arrogation  of  originality  in  his  attitude  as  he  ad 
vanced  into  the  square  of  moonlight,  which  showed  his 
bronzed  face,  with  his  short  beard  broadening  its  effect, 
his  mild  eye  assuming  belligerent  intimations,  as  of  a  peace 
ful  soul,  who  will,  nevertheless,  fight  for  his  own,  his  long, 
thin  lips  firmly  compressed  beneath  his  bristly  mustache. 
"  The  Lord  made  'em,  an'  I  ain't  goin'  ter  hear  nuthin'  said 
agin  'em." 

There  was  a  pause.  The  frolicsome  filly  down  in  the 
stall  below,  kept  awake,  perchance,  by  the  noise  above, 
frisked  about  on  two  or  three  boards,  upon  which  her  small 
hoofs  clattered  noisily,  doubtless  to  the  admiration  of  her 
slower,  wide-eyed  friend  the  calf,  and  sent  forth  a  shrill, 
gleeful  little  whinny,  all  head  tones,  indescribably  callow. 
The  mother  responded  with  a  note  of  maternal  remon 
strance  ;  there  was  a  sound  of  a  scampering  galiopade  to 
her  side,  and  the  stall  was  still.  The  setting  hen,  close  in 
to  the  wall,  amidst  the  hay,  stretched  her  long  neck  with 
its  panting  open  bill,  and  emitted  a  sort  of  hysterical  cluck 
ing  of  apprehension  when  the  whole  great  mass  trembled, 
as  Bassett  flung  himself  at  length  into  its  midst.  His  head 
was  pillowed  high  amongst  the  fragrant  billows,  but  his 
feet  hung  down  unsupported,  dangling  to  and  fro  with  a 
disparaging  gesture,  as  he  demanded,  "•  Hev  ye  tole  yer  wife 
an'  that  thar  congregation  o'  small  gals  o'  yourn  'bout  sech 
ez  air  goin'  for'ard  ter-night  'mongst  we-uns  ?  " 

The  grizzled  head,  held  askew  as  its  owner  listened,  gave 
an  angry  jerk.  "  Course  I  hain't,"  the  paterfamilias  re 
joined,  in  surly  but  succinct  denial. 

There  was    a   sort   of   suppressed  snort   of   indignation 


276   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

amongst  the  vigilantes,  prophetic  of  the  fury  that  would 
await  the  supposititious  betrayal ;  it  seemed,  indeed,  that  the 
very  hypothesis  was  not  a  safe  subject.  Clem  Sanders 
stirred  uneasily. 

"Waal,  now,"  said  the  crafty  Bassett,  "why  don't  ye  tell 
'em  ?  " 

The  elderly  champion  of  the  fair  stood  helpless  and  at  a 
hopeless  disadvantage ;  he  laid  hold  of  his  square-cut  beard, 
and  held  it  meditatively  as  he  gazed  silently  at  his  inter 
locutor. 

"  Why  don't  ye  tell  'em  ?  "  repeated  Bassett,  half-chuck 
ling  at  his  own  cleverness,  the  trend  of  his  argument  seem 
ing  hardly  less  than  inspiration.  "  Ye  know  wimmen-folks 
never  talk  none ;  't  war  n't  one  o'  them,  surely,  ez  tuk  ter 
gossipin'  in  the  very  Gyardin  o'  Eden  with  the  Evil  One 
hisse'f.  They  never  talk  none  an'  spread  the  news,  an' 
when  thar  ain't  no  news  air  plumb  ekal  ter  makin'  it.  Then 
they  never  sets  tharse'fs  ter  frustratin'  the  men  on  principle, 
jes'  fur  the  enjyemint  o'  the  thing,  though  some  folks,  ez 
don't  know  'em  ez  well  ez  ye  an'  me,  hev  'lowed  wunst  or 
twict  sence  the  worl'  began  ez  they  air  always  ekal  ter  that. 
A  leetle  spindlin'  snip  o'  a  gal  kin  fool  a  man  six  feet  high 
an'  a  two  hunderd  pounder  'bout  ennythin'  she  gins  her 
mind  ter." 

"  That  she  kin !  "  sourly  exclaimed  Peter  Bryce,  whose 
infelicitous  love  affairs  had  been  so  widely  bruited  abroad, 
at  the  time  when  he  and  Maria  White,  subsequently  Mrs. 
Bowles,  quarreled,  that  reserve  on  the  subject  would  have 
been  but  an  empty  formality. 

"  Oh,  Pete,  he  's  jes'  funnin' ;  he  ain't  hed  no  'sperience 
o'  thar  onreliability,"  resumed  Bassett,  enraptured  by  the 
extent  of  his  own  satiric  capacities  when  fairly  tested,  and 
having  no  mind  to  relinquish  the  floor  of  which  he  was  so 
conspicuous  an  ornament.  "  Then  they  air  so  reasonable, 
—  that 's  what  makes  'em  so  easy  ter  git  along  with.  Ef 
enny  one  o'  them  war  ter  know  'bout  what  we  air  aimin'  ter 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOlfSEDGE    COVE.       277 

do,  an'  ez  we  air  ready  ter  hang  them  men  ef  we  find  Jake 
Baintree  air  arter  enny  mo'  devilmint  —  sence  he  killed 
Sam'l  Keale,  an'  got  off  from  the  court  through  the  jedge 
an'  jury  bein'  so  all-fired  weak  kneed, — what  would  that 
woman  say  ?  She  'd  say,  t  Don't  hang  'em  ;  it  mought  hurt 
'ein.'  " 

There  was  a  smothered  guffaw  from  the  younger  men, 
and  the  father  of  the  seven  reasonless  beings  stood  mute 
and  without  a  word  of  contradiction. 

"  Don't  hang  'em  ;  it  mought  hurt  'em,  —  that  air  what 
every  sistren  of  'em  in  this  broad  land  would  say,"  the 
speaker  continued,  in  high  feather,  gratified  by  the  flattering 
coincidence  of  the  majority.  "  Now,  Clem,  ye  kin  bear  me 
out,"  he  said,  turning  unexpectedly  toward  the  young  black 
smith,  who  gave  so  abrupt  a  start  that  the  cat  in  the  moon 
lit  crevice  rose  up  suddenly,  with  a  back  bowed  high  and 
an  angry  hiss ;  then,  with  her  tail  aloft  and  stiff  she  ran  off 
with  an  unprecedented  nimbleness,  up  the  mound  of  hay, 
and  composed  herself  to  watch  studiously  a  certain  beam 
high  out  of  reach,  on  which  she  had  seen  a  lithe  whisking 
shadow  of  rodent-like  action.  Clem  heavily  turned  himself 
in  the  hay ;  he  was  swift  to  indorse  mentally  any  plausible 
proposition,  and  he  remembered  anew  with  anxious  self- 
reproach  and  many  twinges  of  conscience  his  disclosures  to 
Marcella.  She  had  disapproved,  as  Bassett  had  urged  that 
any  woman  would.  Was  it  possible  that  she  would  act 
upon  this  disapproval  ?  But  after  all,  would  she  dare,  and 
what  could  she  do  ?  He  sought  to  solace  his  fears,  and  to 
shake  off  his  overpowering  sense  of  treachery  and  guilt,  by 
arguing  within  himself  the  futility  of  any  scheme  she  might 
devise  ;  even  circumstance  seemed  to  favor  him.  He  felt 
ashamed  to  experience  a  certain  gratulation  that  her  father, 
so  vehement  a  stickler  for  the  maintenance  of  the  law,  was 
not  available  in  this  emergency.  '•  Eli  be  too  sick  fur  her 
ter  resk  excitin'  him  'bout  sech.  She  ain't  goin'  ter  'sturb 
Eli  ef  Jake  Baintree  war  ter  git  hung,  like  he  oughter  hev 


278       THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE. 

been  a  year  ago  an'  better,  an'  would  hev  been  ef  Teck 
Jepson  heel  bed  his  way." 

He  was  summarily  roused  from  these  absorptions  by  Bas- 
sett's  raucous  drawl :  — 

"  Why  n't  ye  answer,  Clem  ?  Air  ye  a-snoozin'  thar,  ye 
sleepy-headed  sorrel-top  ?  " 

"I  hearn  ye,"  replied  Clem  gruffly.  "I  dunno  how  / 
kin  bear  ye  out.  I  dunno  all  the  wimmen  in  the  moun 
tings,  an'  I  don't  wanter.  Some  will  do  one  way  an'  some 
another  ;  ennythin'  ez  air  onexpected  an'  suddint." 

"  That 's  jes'  it !  "  exclaimed  Bassett.  "  The  Bible  'lows 
ez  the  woman  war  made  from  one  o'  Adam's  ribs,  an'  I  '11 
be  bound,  though  the  Bible  don't  say  so,  ez  her  brains  war 
jes'  the  odds  and  e-ends  lef  over  from  Adam's  brains,  an' 
that 's  why  her  thoughts  air  jes'  higglety-picklety ;  a  leetle 
o'  this,  an'  a  tech  o'  that,  an'  none  ter  las'  more  'n  a  minit. 
An'  she  did  n't  shine  on  that  'casion  in  the  Gyardin  as  an 
adviser,  an'  that 's  how  it  happens  men  ever  sence  hev  been 
glad  ter  git  shet  o'  thar  wife's  advice." 

"  I  ain't  never  seen  one  woman  ez  larnt  enny  lesson  from 
Eve,"  remarked  Peter  Bryce.  "  They  gin  thar  advice  yit 
ez  ef  't  war  one  o'  the  precious  things  o'  the  yearth,  an'  air 
always  powerful  'stonished  an'  conflusticated  every  time  ez 
the  men  folks  ain't  willin'  ter  break  thar  necks  ter  profit 
by  it." 

The  sentinel  had  left  the  discussion,  and  reverted  to  the 
window  ;  he  beckoned  to  one  of  the  other  mountaineers 
presently,  and  pointed  down  the  long  avenue  of  the  great 
oaks.  Here  and  there  were  broad  open  spaces,  where  the 
moonlight  fell  in  unbroken  effulgence ;  the  autumn  winds 
had  left  the  trees  but  scantily  leaved  ;  bough  and  bole  were 
often  distinct  through  the  foliage,  and  even  amidst  the 
shadows,  which  duplicated  each  leaf  and  twig  ;  the  white 
frost  lent  an  accentuation  of  brilliancy.  Upon  the  sere  grass 
a  hoofbeat  was  falling,  and  an  equestrian  figure  rode  into 
full  view ;  a  mounted  shadow  beside  him  now  lurked  among 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.   279 

the  trees ;  now  skulked  strangely  foreshortened,  on  the 
ground  ;  now  rose  suddenly  upon  the  vertical  surface  of 
a  crag  into  the  full  stature  of  a  man  and  the  complete 
equipment  of  a  horse,  with  a  definiteness  that  had  an  un 
canny  effect,  somehow,  in  the  solitude.  So  brilliant  was  the 
moon  that  it  seemed  to  seek  out  and  reveal  vague,  spectral, 
half-realized  things,  affinities  of  the  night  and  the  unknown. 

"  Edzac'ly,  —  jes'  ez  I  said.  Teck  ridin'  'long  like  some 
great  captain,"  exclaimed  Bassett,  whom  the  faint  jingle  of 
spurs  in  the  frosty  air  had  brought  to  the  window. 

The  mounted  figure  passed  close  to  the  building,  never 
lifting  his  head  nor  making  a  sign,  although  he  must  have 
been  conscious  of  the  men  looking  down  at  him.  The 
horse  whickered  gleefully  upon  nearing  the  barn,  and  the 
rocks  echoed  and  reechoed  the  sound,  until  it  simulated  the 
distant,  neighing  of  a  squadron  of  cavalry.  Even  when  it 
had  sunk  to  silence,  some  seeming  charger  far  away  again 
broke  the  quiet,  neighing  in  the  solitary  defiles  of  the  moun 
tain.  The  men  looked  at  one  another;  here  and  there  a 
spark  of  irritation,  perceptible  the  moment  that  the  horse 
man  had  first  been  glimpsed  through  the  aisles  of  the  woods, 
began  to  flare  definitely  into  anger. 

"  Teck  ain't  keerin'  how  much  n'ise  he  lets  them  men 
hear." 

.  "  He  don't  mind  sech  ez  we-uns  say  ;  he  air  jes'  sot  an* 
sodden  in  his  own  way." 

"  He  oughter  be  tuk  down  somehow.  He  air  too  robus 
tious  an'  domineerin'  ter  live." 

The  scattered  comments  subsided  the  moment  a  step 
sounded  upon  the  rungs  of  the  ladder.  As  Teck  Jepson 
emerged  through  the  aperture  in  the  floor,  glancing  up  at 
the  silent  figures  grouped  about,  watching  his  ascent,  there 
seemed  something  in  his  eye  which  coerced  apparent  ac 
quiescence,  and  in  this  fostered  a  sort  of  subservient  dis 
simulation  toward  him.  His  grave  "  Howdy,  neighbors,"  in 
his  low,  melancholy  drawl,  evoked  a  friendly  "  Howdy, 


280        THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOM  SEDGE   COVE. 

Teck,"  which  seemed  to  express  all  the  good-fellowship  of 
approving  welcome.  Only  Dake  stood  silent  and  morose,  re 
taining  in  his  manner  something  of  the  sentiment  which  had 
animated  the  coterie  before  Jepson's  entrance.  He  could 
not  have  expressed  a  categorical  opinion  of  Jepson's  charac 
ter,  but  was  aware  of  his  acute  observation  and  his  alert 
divination  of  motive,  and  felt  sure  that  he  could  not  have 
failed  to  notice  the  chill  protest  and  displeasure  in  the  single 
exception  to  the  cordiality  of  the  greetings.  Thus  Jepson's 
lofty  indifference  and  serenity  impressed  him  as  in  the  nature 
of  a  triumphant  retort,  and  presently  Dake  broke  forth  an 
grily  : 

"  What  air  yer  notion,  Teck  Jepson,  ter  kem  ter  a  secret 
meetin',  a-tromplin'  an'  a-jinglin'  with  spurs  through  the 
woods,  an'  ridin'  of  yer  horse  ez  goes  whinnyin'  fur  corn 
inter  the  stable.  Ef  I  war  Clem,  I  would  n't  give  him  nare 
grain.  Ef  them  men  hev  enny  ears,  they  air  bound  ter 
hear  ye  an'  take  a  warnin'.  I  b'lieve  ye  air  in  league  with 
'em." 

Jepson  turned  slowly  upon  him.  "  I  b'lieve  I  '11  throw 
ye  out'n  that  winder,"  he  said  deliberately. 

There  was  a  hasty  cry  of  protest  from  the  group,  and 
several  interposed  between  the  two.  "  Naw,  Teck,  naw  ; 
ye  mustn't  git  a-fightin',  ye  an'  Gid !  "  exclaimed  the  father 
of  the  seven,  with  a  patriarchal  air  which  became  him  well 
at  home,  and  in  view  of  his  seniority  did  not  seem  out  of 
place  here.  "  Ye  know,  boys,  we-uns  hev  got  tergether  ter 
hold  up  the  right,  whether  the  law  will  tote  its  e-end  or  no. 
It  air  fur  the  good  an'  the  peace  o'  the  kentry.  We  can't 
gin  our  cornsent  ter  wickedness  goin'  on  an'  dodgin'  its  due, 
but  we  '11  meet  up  with  it  an'  medjure  it,  sure.  'T  won't 
do,  ter  git  ter  quar'lin',  so  jestice  will  be  frustrated  both  in 
the  courts  an'  out'n  'em.  Ef  the  arm  o'  the  law  be  got  so 
spindlin'  an'  puny  ez  it  can't  take  holt  an'  deal  jestice,  but 
flops  par'lytic  in  the  empty  air,  the  people  air  strong  yit,  an' 
ain't  goin'  ter  suffer  no  wrong-doin'.  Naw,  sir  !  " 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       281 

He  uttered  this  with  a  sing-song  delivery,  reminiscent  of 
the  pulpit  of  the  circuit-rider,  his  voice  rising  and  falling 
in  alternate  waves  and  with  rhythmical  cadences ;  then  he 
suddenly  assumed  an  indescribably  coaxing  tone,  that  had 
often  proved  exceedingly  efficacious  with  recalcitrant  small 
girls. 

"  Don't  ye  git  ter  quar'lin'  with  Gid,  Teck  !  An'  Gid, 
ye  oughter  be  'shamed  !  Teck  's  our  main  man  ;  he  's  a 
plumb  ringleader,  an'  ye  know  we  air  all  bound  ter  b'lieve 
in  Teck,  wharf  ore  or  what  not.  I  notice  we-uns  all  do  his 
bid,  whether  we  aim  ter  or  no.  Teck  ain't  goin'  ter  git  up 
no  commotion  ez  them  men  kin  hear.  An'  ez  ter  Teck  be- 
in'  in  league  with  'em,  we-uns  all  know  —  everybody  knows 
—  ez  he  hev  been  plumb  down  on  Jake  Baintree  ever  sence 
the  jury  let  him  off ;  Teck  'lowed  ez  Jedge  Lynch  ought 
ter  take  his  case  up.  Teck  's  our  main  man !  ' 

A  frown  had  gathered  on  Jepson's  face,  distinctly  seen 
in  the  moonlight  which  sifted  through  the  dark  shadows 
from  the  crannies  of  the  high  peaked  roof.  The  peace-maker 
had  touched  some  false  note,  and  the  jarring  discord  was 
instantly  manifested.  Jepson  deliberately  drew  his  arm  from 
the  grasp  of  the  elder  man. 

"  I  ain't  a-aimin'  ter  be  a  leader,"  he  said.  "  I  ain't  sech 
ez  covets  the  fust  place.  I  hev  no  wish  fur  words  of  praise. 
I  look  within  fur  the  testimony  an'  the  voice  o'  the  Lord  ez 
sounds  in  the  silences.  Sech  ez  my  steps  air,  they  air  tuk  in 
His  path." 

He  half  turned  from  his  well-meaning  exhorter,  who  stood, 
a  trifle  crest-fallen  but  deeply  impressed,  still  staring,  the 
ligaments  of  his  strong  bare  neck  tense  as  he  thrust  his  head 
forward. 

Jepson  paused,  looking  over  his  shoulder  his  luminous 
handsome  eyes  rested  upon  Dake  with  a  more  familiar  and 
worldly  expression  than  they  had  worn  a  moment  ago. 

u  Ez  ter  Gid  Dake,  he  air  welcome  ter  his  thoughts  ;  his 
wust  enemy  would  n't  gredge  him  sech  pore  leetle  things  ez 


282   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

he  kin  think.  But  ye  air  in  an'  about  right  ter  gin  rebukes 
fur  quarlin',  — we  ain't  met  fur  sech  ez  that.  An'  I  won't 
throw  Gid  out'n  the  winder  jes'  yit ;  but,"  he  sneered,  "  let 
him  think  his  thoughts.  A  body  ought  ter  be  sorry  fur  a 
man  condemned  ter  pass  his  life  in  sech  comp'ny  ez  Gid  an' 
his  thoughts." 

The  elderly  peace-maker  received  the  intimation  that  his 
interference  was  praiseworthy  and  well  timed  with  a  distinct 
and  grateful  glow.  Dake,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets  and 
a  flouting  shrug  of  his  shoulders,  ejaculated,  "  Shucks  !  "  and 
walked  away  amongst  the  others,  quick  enough,  however, 
and  sensitive  enough  to  note  the  glances  askance  and  the 
half-veiled  contempt  which  marked  the  degree  to  which  they 
considered  him  defeated,  and  the  consequent  depths  to  which 
he  had  sunk  in  their  opinion. 

"  I  rid,  but  I  tuk  a  short  cut  through  the  woods,  an'  never 
teched  the  road  nowhar,"  continued  Jepson,  standing  in 
the  middle  of  the  floor,  taller  than  them  all,  very  distinct  in 
the  moonlight,  "  I  rid  bekase  I  war  so  all-fired  late."  It 
was  unusual  that  he  deigned  to  explain  his  motives,  and  this 
betokened  an  unwonted  geniality  and  sense  of  nearness  and 
oneness  with  them  all.  "  It  takes  me  mighty  nigh  the 
whole  evenin'  ter  cook  a  leetle  dab  o'  supper.  My  mother 
war  the  bes'  cook  ez  ever  seen  a  fire,  but  I  don't  'pear  ter 
take  arter  her.  I  actially  can't  turn  a  hoe-cake  over."  He 
smiled  slightly  at  the  laughter  that  this  revelation  of  his 
domestic  difficulties  evoked.  Then  he  went  on  :  "  Mos'  folks 
re j 'ice  mightily  when  meal-times  come,  but  it  air  a  season 
o'  hardship  an'  labor  fur  me.  The  skillets  an'  the  pans 
'pear  ter  hide,  somehows,  an'  I  can't  find  nuthin' ;  though 
I  aim  ter  put  every  thin'  in  its  place,  't  ain't  thar  whenst  I 
want  it  agin." 

"  Ye  miss  Mis'  Bowles  cornsider'ble,  don't  ye  ?  "  sug 
gested  Bassett,  with  a  leer,  —  "  specially  meal  times." 

"  I  never  hearn  Mis'  Bowles  war  ennythin'  so  tremenjious 
s'prisin'  ez  a  cook,"  sneered  Peter  Bryce,  nettled  at  the  very 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       283 

mention  of  her  name,  and  resolved  not  to  indorse  any  pre 
sumable  merits  and  culinary  accomplishments. 

But  Teck  Jepson  had  a  sentiment  of  loyalty  to  the  hospi 
table  board,  although  it  was  self-interest  that  had  spread  it. 
"  She  never  let  me  go  hongry,"  he  averred  heartily,  "  an' 
that 's  more  'n  I  kin  say  fur  myself." 

"  Ye  oughter  git  married,  Teck,"  said  the  champion  of 
the  fair.  "  A  man  'thout  a  wife  air  like  a  house  'thout  a 
h'a'th-stone :  thar  ain't  no  chances  for  comfort,  nor  cheerful 
ness,  nor  light,  nor  nuthin',  'thout  it ;  it 's  jes'  the  heart  o'  a 
home." 

"  Yes  ;  an'  ye  kin  make  mighty  sure  thar  ain't  a  skillet 
in  Brumsaidge  Cove  spry  enough  ter  hide  from  Marcelly 
Strobe,"  broke  in  Dake  irreverently,  glad  to  touch  upon  a 
tender  point;  having  heard  and  believed  Andy  Longwood's 
representations  of  Marcella's  preference  for  Clem  Sanders, 
and  knowing  that  Teck  Jepson  had  also  been  an  aspirant 
for  favor. 

Jepson,  with  an  angry  start,  was  about  to  retort,  when 
Clem  Sanders,  growling  an  oath,  rose  up  from  the  hay, 
stamping  heavily  first  one  foot  and  then  the  other,  to  rouse 
them  from  the  premature  slumbers  in  which  they  had  been 
surreptitiously  indulging  while  the  rest  of  his  system  was 
broad  awake.  "  Air  we-uns  a-goin'  ter  stay  hyar  all  night, 
a-colloguin'  'bout  skillets  an'  sech,  an'  not  even  peekin'  out 
o'  the  winder  ter  keep  watch  on  them  men  at  the  forge  ? 
They  could  hev  been  at  thar  evil  works,  an'  a-doin'  a 
dunno-what-all  in  secret  an'  agin  the  law,  an*  we-uns  air 
sech  all-fired  drivilin'  id  jits  we  can't  ketch  'em,  though  we 
sets  up  night  arter  night  a-watchin',  kase  we  gits  ter  jawin' 
'bout  Eve  an'  Adam,  an'  skillets,  an'  Marcelly  Strobe ! 
Them  men  air  mighty  safe.  I  wisht  I  knowed  I  war 
a-goin'  ter  be  ez  fur  off  from  harm  an'  hurt  all  my  days. 
Them  men  air  mighty  safe,  no  matter  what  they  air  a-aim- 
in'  an'  a-plottin'  ;  mighty  safe  from  sech  vengeance  ez  we- 
uns  kin  git  tergether  in  Brumsaidge  Cove." 


284   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

It  was  seldom  that  Teck  Jepson  was  affected  by  the 
speech  of  others,  but  the  coercive  influence  of  this  logical 
outburst  was  very  apparent  in  his  manner,  as  he  turned  ab 
ruptly  away,  evidently  terminating  and  casting  off  the  whole 
previous  train  of  thought,  and  strode  to  the  window.  As 
he  stood  there,  the  moonlight  upon  his  clearly  chiseled  fea 
tures,  his  full,  deep  eyes  fixed  with  a  searching  intentness 
upon  the  dark  little  shanty  of  the  forge  down  the  road,  his 
hand  resting  upon  the  handle  of  the  pistol  that  he  wore 
thrust  in  his  belt,  his  high  boots  drawn  over  his  trousers  to 
the  knee,  his  spurs  catching  the  light  and  scintillating,  albeit 
they  were  as  motionless  as  if  they  had  been  the  accoutre 
ments  of  some  sculptured  soldier,  there  was  so  much  agile 
strength  suggested  in  his  pose,  so  much  fire  and  force  in  his 
face,  earnest  of  the  vassalage  of  circumstance  to  this  full- 
pulsed  spirit,  that  Clem  Sanders,  dolorously  gazing,  felt  his 
heart  sink  within  him.  Teck  Jepson  had  forgotten  his  en 
terprise,  for  the  moment,  and  he  himself  had  reminded  him 
of  it,  forgetful  in  his  turn  of  the  horror  that  Marcella  had 
expressed,  and  of  his  own  protestations  that  no  task  she  could 
impose  would  be  too  onerous  for  him  to  show  his  wish  to 
please  her.  And  now  he  had  had  but  to  hold  his  tongue, 
and  the  intruders  might  have  come  and  gone  while  the 
vigilantes  wrangled  together  in  the  loft  ;  no  bloodshed 
would  darken  this  silver  night,  and  Marcella's  tender  heart 
would  be  unwrung.  "  Me,  ez  'lowed  I  'd  shoot  all  these 
fellers  an'  run  'em  off  from  hyar  ter  keep  'em  from  harmin' 
Jake  Baintree  an'  that  thar  slouch  of  a  blacksmith  ez  he 
hev  got  along  with  him  !  "  he  said,  aghast  at  the  rift  be 
tween  his  performance  and  his  protestations.  He  began  to 
be  appalled  by  the  significance  and  consequence  that  now 
seemed  to  attend  his  Imp-hazard  speech  and  actions.  He 
was  not  reflective,  he  had  no  habits  of  forecast  and  serious 
intention,  and  he  felt  enmeshed  in  troublous  toils  in  the 
knowledge  that  he  secretly  wished  to  hinder  that  which  he 
apparently  sought  to  help  forward.  He  would  have  given 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       285 

much  to  recall  his  words.  He  had  lost  all  desire  to  assist 
in  adjudicating  public  affairs  in  the  courts  of  Judge  Lynch, 
to  investigate  the  mystery  of  the  intrusion  into  his  own 
forge,  even  to  punish  the  bungling  smith  that  surreptitiously 
broke  and  mended ;  these  things  had  become  repugnant  to 
him,  under  the  knowledge  of  Marcella's  disapproval.  He 
stood  for  a  few  moments  in  the  shadow,  silently  regarding 
Teck  Jepson  in  the  mellow  splendor  of  the  moonlight,  that 
added  its  indefinite  idealization  to  those  advantages  of 
symmetry  and  pose  which  Clem  considered  constituted  a 
"  powerful  fine-built  man."  The  blacksmith  turned,  slouch 
ing  forward  his  heavy  shoulders,  a  manner  he  affected  when 
displeased  and  out  of  sorts,  and  which  had  an  oddly  aging 
effect,  making  him  appear  like  some  burly  fellow  of  fifty 
or  sixty,  bent  with  toil  and  trouble.  He  flung  himself,  with 
a  short  sigh,  into  his  former  nest  in  the  hay,  and  upheld  his 
head  on  one  hand.  The  moonlight  had  shifted  since  he  last 
lay  there.  The  hay  that  in  the  semi-obscurity  retained  its 
dull  amber  tint,  tending  here  and  there  to  a  dusky  brown 
or  the  nullity  of  invisibility,  was  in  the  light  a  fine  and 
fibrous  silver  ;  it  gleamed  with  lustrous  reflections  as  he 
moved,  and  threw  his  head  and  face  into  distinct  relief, 
despite  the  shadow  of  his  hat-brim. 

4'  Clem  looks  like  ez  ef  he  hed  been  a-feedin'  on  ten- 
penny  nails  as  his  daily  fare,"  suggested  Jube,  the  parson's 
son,  who  had  lately  come  in,  and  who  sat  upon  an  inverted 
half-bushel  measure.  He  was  amusing  himself  by  shelling 
an  ear  of  corn,  and  dropping  the  grains  through  the  cracks 
in  the  ill-laid  flooring  upon  the  little  filly  in  the  stall  below, 
which  he  could  see  quite  distinctly ;  the  surprise  of  the  little 
animal  was  varied  by  periodic  panic  and  flight ;  she  would 
return,  however,  to  reexamine  the  phenomenon,  until, 
finally,  Jube  forced  the  empty  cob  through  the  crevice, 
hitting  her  fairly  upon  the  head,  when,  with  a  terrified  snort 
and  an  elastic  bound,  she  disappeared,  to  come  back  no 
more. 


286   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

Clem  made  no  retort.  He  did  not  fail,  however,  so 
sharpened  were  his  blunt  perceptions,  to  notice  that  Teck 
Jepson,  despite  his  preoccupation,  glanced  round  at  the 
sound  of  his  name ;  he  remembered,  with  an  irritated  sense 
of  the  grotesqueness  of  the  mistake,  that  Jepson  fancied 
him  an  accepted  lover,  and  there  was  no  relish  in  masquer 
ading  in  this  triumphant  guise  with  so  dreary  and  hopeless 
an  identity  within. 

"  What 's  the  news  from  the  forge,  Teck  ?  "  demanded 
Jube,  reaching  out  to  the  pile  of  corn  for  an  ear  to  hold  in 
readiness  in  case  the  filly  should  venture  out  again.  Jepson 
once  more  turned  to  the  window. 

"  All  dark  thar,"  he  replied. 

"  Shucks  !  "  said  Jube  easily,  craning  over  the  crevice  in 
the  floor  in  an  effort  to  see  the  filly  again,  as  if  badgering 
the  small  denizen  of  the  stall  below  were  the  praiseworthy 
errand  which  had  brought  him  hither ;  he  even  broke  off 
a  bit  of  the  ear  of  corn,  and  cast  it  down  the  cranny,  in  the 
hope  that  it  might  prove  a  lure.  But  the  filly,  though  slow 
to  learn,  learned  thoroughly,  and  his  craft  was  in  vain. 

There  was  a  sensation  among  the  others  that  savored 
more  of  angry  disappointment  than  their  disinterested  pro 
fessions  of  seeking  to  promote  the  welfare  and  the  peace  of 
the  community  might  justify.  They  became  more  sensible 
of  the  hardship  of  their  long  restraint,  and  manifestly 
chafed  at  being  thus  balked  of  the  expected  excitement. 
More  than  one  was  restively  striding  back  and  forth  upon 
the  quaking  flooring,  and  between  Dake  and  Bassett  arose 
a  somewhat  clamorous  controversy  concerning  the  number 
of  times  that  they  had  thus  fruitlessly  watched  and  waited. 

*'  I  ain't  half  awake  in  the  daytime*  stumblin'  along  arter 
the  plow-tail  or  huntin'  like  somebody  walkin'  in  thar 
sleep  !  "  Bassett  angrily  exclaimed.  "  An'  ef  we-uns  war 
the  men  we-uns  purtend  ter  be,  we  'd  go  in  the  daytime,  an' 
git  Baintree  off  ter  the  woods,  an'  hang  him  then." 

"  Oh,  shet  up,  Joe !  "  called  out  Clem  from  where  he  lay 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       287 

half  buried  in  the  hay.  He  had  scant  imagination  or  sensi 
tiveness,  but  his  pulses  had  come  to  beat  in  sympathy  with 
Marcella's  sentiments,  and  he  felt  as  it  were  by  proxy  the 
cold  thrill  of  horror  at  the  murderous  words  ;  his  nerves 
were  tense  with  a  sense  of  resistance  to  the  bloody-minded 
cruelty  of  the  careless  proposition.  "  Ye  fairly  make  me 
hone  ter  git  up  an'  beat  that  empty  cymblin'  o'  a  head  ofFn 
them  narrer,  spindlin'  shoulders  o'  yourn." 

He  had  not  gauged  the  effect  of  his  words.  Before  Bas- 
sett  could  reply  Jepson  whirled  round,  with  a  flash  of  the 
eye  that  was  fiery  even  in  the  pallid  moonlight. 

"  An'  what  ails  you-uns  ter  take  this  suddint  turn,  Clem 
Sanders  ? "  he  demanded,  his  voice  vibrant  with  scorn. 
"  The  las'  time  I  hearn  from  you-uns  ye  war  plumb  crazed 
'bout  yer  leetle  tongs,  —  not  kase  they  war  bruk,  but  kase 
they  hed  been  mended.  'Feared  like  't  would  kill  ye  kase  ve 
could  n't  approve  o'  that  thar  job.  /war  'feard  we  couldn't 
find  a  rope  long  enough  nor  a  tree  high  enough  ter  hang  the 
man  ez,  war  so  gin  ter  pernicious  ways  ez  ter  fool  with  them 
leetle  tongs.  An'  now  ye  'pear  not  ter  keer  nuthin'  't  all 
'bout  them  desolated  leetle  tongs.  Ye  can't  hold  ter  nuthin', 
Clem  Sanders,  an'  ennybody  ez  puts  thar  'pendence  in  ye 
air  leanin'  on  a  broken  reed,  —  even  ter  shoein'  a  horse- 
critter,  ef  the  truth  war  knowed." 

Clem  Sanders  had  palpably  winced  under  this  arraign 
ment,  despite  his  bluff  courage,  fearing  that  he  had  too 
definitely  evinced  his  changed  feeling,  and  that  in  some  way 
it  might  result  in  eliciting  the  fact  that  he  had  divulged  their 
plans  to  Marcella  Strobe.  He  detected  the  influence  of  her 
fancied  preference  in  the  evident  acrimony  of  Teck  Jepson's 
sentiment  toward  him,  but  he  was  not  moved  to  reply  until 
the  slur  was  cast  upon  his  capacities  as  a  blacksmith.  Even 
in  this  moment  of  supreme  emotion  his  simple  art  was  dear 
to  him. 

"  Whar  '11  ye  find  a  better  blacksmith  ?  "  he  cried,  spring 
ing  to  his  feet,  and  holding  both  arms  outspread.  "  Whar  '11 


288   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

ye  find  him  ?  Tell  me,  an'  I  '11  walk  a  hunderd  mile  ter  see 
him !  " 

The  dignity  of  the  worker  who  loves  his  craft  and  does 
his  utmost  in  its  service  was  in  his  face  and  manner,  as  he 
stood,  and  served  to  neutralize  his  overweening  vanity. 

"  Ef  he  war  ter  tell  ye,  ye  would  n't  b'lieve  him,"  said 
Dake  discerningly,  as  Jepson  turned  slightingly  away,  and 
Clem  sank  back  once  more  into  the  deep,  elastic  meshes  of 
the  hay. 

"  Waal,"  Bassett  resumed  his  objections,  "  air  we-uns 
a-goin'  ter  keep  this  up  till  Christmus  ?  An'  what  did  we 
begin  it  fur  ?  Ef  it  air  perlite  an'  agreeable  ter  hang  Bain- 
tree  down  hyar,  why  ain't  it  jes'  ez  perlite  an'  agreeable  ter 
go  git  him  up  in  the  mountings  ?  'T  would  save  time  an' 
sleep,  an'  be  jes'  edzac'ly  the  same  ter  him." 

"  Hang  him  fur  what  ?  "  demanded  Teck  Jepson  suc 
cinctly. 

Clem  Sanders,  with  a  galvanic  start,  turned  his  head  as 
he  lay  in  the  masses  of  the  hay,  and  stared  at  the  speaker. 

"Fur — fur  —  a-doin'  of  whatever  he  air  a-doin'  of," 
said  Bassett,  to  whom  a  reputation  for  a  logical,  level  head 
was  by  no  means  a  cherished  ambition. 

Jepson  shook  his  own  head  with  an  imperatively  negative 
gesture.  '*  We  hev  got  ter  find  out  ez  he  air  arter  some 
harm  fust,  —  some  wickedness  ez  air  agin  the  interns'  o'  the 
kentry.  He  mought  hev  done  nothin'  wuss  'n  fool  with 
them  leetle  tongs  ;  an'  ef  Clem  's  half  the  blacksmith  he 
makes  hisself  out  ter  be,  he  ought  ter  be  able  ter  fix  'em 
agin." 

"  Hang  him  fur  a-killin'  of  Sam'l  Keale,  o'  course,"  said 
Bassett  casually,  his  unthinking  face  repulsive  in  its  lack  of 
any  expression  that  might  attest  some  protest  of  humanity, 
some  reluctant  though  urgent  and  distorted  sense  of  justice, 
as  he  paused  in  his  striding  to  and  fro,  and  stood  in  the  illu 
mined  square  of  the  window.  "  Ye  always  'lowed  't  war 
jestice." 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       289 

"  Not  now  !  "  cried  Jepson  vehemently,  —  "  not  now." 
He  lifted  a  convincing  forefinger,  and  laid  it  in  the  palm  of 
the  other  hand  at  every  point  he  made,  as  if  telling  it  off. 
The  other  men,  great,  lumbering,  massive  figures  in  the  sil 
ver-shotted  dusk,  gathered  about  him,  watching  with  ponder 
ing  intentness  his  gesture  as  he  spoke,  and  slowly  deliberat 
ing  upon  the  subject-matter.  ••  At  fust,  when  the  courts  let 
him  go,  I  'pealed  ter  Jedge  Lynch.  But  now  he  hev  ez 
good  ez  got  the  promise  o'  the  k entry  on  it.  He  hev  been 
let  ter  go  free  an'  'thout  fear,  an'  Brumsaidge  hev  'peared 
ter  cornsent  ter  the  verdict  o'  the  jury.  An'  arter  six  month 
an'  better  Brumsaidge  can't  turn  around  now  an'  say,  *  I 
b'lieve  I  '11  change  my  mind,  bubby,  an'  hang  ye  arter  all.' 
Naw ;  'thout  he  hev  done  somethin'  fraish,  he  11  hev  ter  go 
scot-free.  An'  't  ain't  likely  he  hev  done  ennythin'  agin 
ekal  ter  killin'  Sam'l  Keale." 

Clem  Sanders  had  slowly  drawn  himself  into  a  sitting 
posture  in  the  hay.  He  gazed  at  the  speaker  with  startled, 
dilated  eyes,  his  suddenly  formed  conviction  taking  fast  hold 
upon  his  mind.  In  this  reasoning,  inconclusive  though  it 
was,  he  thought  he  saw  that  trait  of  mercy,  of  humanity, 
which  Marcella  had  urged  half  heartedly  upon  him.  and 
then  let  fall,  since  he  could  do  naught,  she  said.  Could  Teck 
Jepson  do  more  ?  He  wondered  if  this  were  her  decision. 
Had  she  thought  Jepson  more  powerful  ?  Had  she  appealed 
to  him  for  the  men  she  chose  to  befriend  in  the  name  of 
sheer  humanity  ?  How  else  could  be  explained  this  sudden 
elaborate  construction  of  the  acquiescence  of  Broomsedge 
Cove  in  the  verdict  of  the  jury  ?  What  careful  argument 
was  this  for  the  delectation  of  lynchers,  assembled  for  the 
purpose  of  defying  quirks  and  palliations,  and  administering 
condign  punishment  for  the  deed  done  ?  He  scanned  the 
half-seen  moonlit  faces  grouped  about ;  there  was  on  more 
than  one  a  flouting  indignation,  and  here  and  there  a  disap 
pointed,  blood-thirsty  lower  that  he  remembered  to  have 
seen  in  the  unguarded  look  of  a  sheep-killing  dog  glimps- 


290       THE  DESPOT   OF  BROOM  SEDGE   COVE. 

ing  a  distant  flock  on  a  hill.  But  one  trait  made  them  all 
alike,  —  an  expression  of  suspicious  surprise.  Had  not 
Gideon  Dake  spoken  more  truly  than  he  knew  when  he  said 
that  Teck  Jepson  was  in  league  with  those  men  ?  And  if 
this  were  so,  it  was  for  Marcella's  sake  ;  and  these  words 
were  almost  trembling  into  sound  upon  the  blacksmith's 
quivering,  angry  lips,  as  he  rose  up  slowly  and  confronted 
Teck  Jepson,  still  standing  in  the  centre  of  the  circle. 
There  was  something  so  significant  in  Clem  Sanders's  man 
ner  that  they  all  turned  expectantly  toward  him. 

Keen,  keen  on  the  frosty  air,  incisive,  iterative,  metallic, 
fell  the  sudden  stroke  of  a  hammer  on  the  anvil,  and  every 
pulse  thrilled  to  the  sound. 


XVI. 

THE  moment  had  come.  That  fact  took  precedence  of 
every  other  impression,  and  annulled  all  the  previous  care 
ful  preparation.  There  was  an  instant  rush  toward  the  lad 
der,  and  the  floor  quaked  beneath  the  swift  but  heavy  feet. 
A  voice  checked  the  advance,  that  was  like  a  rout  in  its 
wild,  unreasoning  motive  power  :  — 

"  The  fust  man  ez  steps  a  foot  on  that  thar  rung,  I  '11  let 
the  light  through  him  !  " 

There  was  a  sharp,  decisive  click,  and  the  lynchers  knew 
that  Teck  Jepson  had  cocked  the  pistol,  which  he  wore  no 
longer  in  his  belt,  but  held  in  his  right  hand,  as  he  stood  be 
side  the  aperture  in  the  floor. 

A  momentary  hovering  about  it,  a  sound  of  quick,  excited 
panting,  and  the  massive  figures  fell  back  a  little. 

"  Why  n't  ye  say  who  air  ter  go  fust,  then  ?  "  exclaimed 
Bassett,  in  angry  reproach.  '•  Ye  air  too  durned  sot  in  yer 
way  ter  live,  Teck  Jepson.  Ef  we  war  right  smart,  we  'd 
hang  ye  a  leetle  before  we  set  out  ter  settle  them  t'  other 
men." 

"  Don't  quar'l,  boys,  —  don't  quar'l,"  urged  the  paternal 
peace-maker.  "  Teck  knows  jes'  what  we  'd  bes'  do." 

There  was  scarcely  a  murmur  of  dissent  to  this,  for  the 
usurper  is  more  imposing  than  he  who  wields  delegated 
authority,  in  that  his  supremacy  is  the  trophy  and  the  tri 
umph  of  his  own  bow  and  spear.  These  wild  and  lawless 
men  might  hardly  have  accorded  so  ready  an  obedience  to 
Teck  Jepson's  mandate,  had  his  power  been  conferred  by 
the  State  of  Tennessee. 

"Ye  '11  stay  right  hyar  till  ye  air  wanted,"  he  said  des- 


292        THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMS  EDGE   COVE. 

potically.  "  I  be  goin'  ter  take  one  man  an'  go  down  ter 
see  what  they  air  a-doin'  of.  Ef  I  fire  my  pistol,  ye  kin 
come,  the  whole  bilin'  of  ye,  ez  hard  ez  ye  kin  travel.  Me 
an'  one  man  will  go  fust." 

"  I  be  that  man  !  "  cried  Clem  Sanders  turbulentlv. 

Jepson  could  hardly  say  him  nay,  since  he  was  the  first 
to  volunteer.  But  his  objection  showed  very  plainly  in  his 
eyes,  and  the  blacksmith  sturdily  responded  to  it. 

"  It's  my  forge  !  "    He  protested  his  special  interest. 

"  Laws-a-massy,  yes  !  an'  it 's  yer  leetle  tongs,  toa  !  " 
sneered  Jepson,  with  the  scorn  of  one  who  cares  little  for 
material  possessions,  as  he  took  his  wray  down  the  ladder. 

Clem  followed,  and  as  the  two  emerged  from  the  shadowy 
barn  upon  the  frost-whitened  sward  below  and  into  the  full 
splendor  of  the  moonlight,  they  were  conscious  of  the  eyes 
that  pursued  them  from  the  window  above.  Once  Jepson 
turned  his  head  and  glanced  over  his  shoulder.  It  was  not 
a  reassuring  sight,  even  to  one  whom  it  in  no  manner  threat 
ened,  —  that  broad,  low  window  of  the  simple  log-barn, 
filled  with  the  bearded,  eager  faces  of  silent  armed  men, 
some  half  crouching,  others  standing  that  they  might  look 
over  the  shoulders  of  those  in  front.  Behind  them  all  was 
visible,  the  hay  piled  to  the  roof,  here  silver  skeins  in  the 
light,  and  again  full  of  shadows  and  indefinite  suggestions 
of  depth. 

As  the  two  walked  on  together,  Jepson  took  note  of  the 
moon  in  the  sky.  "  Ain't  it  some  earlier  'cordin'  ter  the 
moon  than  't  war  that  night  when  ye  say  ye  kem  so  nigh 
ter  ketchin'  'em  ?  " 

"  Dunno,"  panted  Clem.  "  I  hev  hed  suthin'  else  ter  do, 
sence  then,  than  ter  stare-gaze  the  moon." 

The  tone  of  the  retort  arrested  Jepson's  attention.  He 
had  hitherto  taken  little  account  of  his  rival's  mental  atti 
tude  toward  him.  As  he  turned  his  head,  and,  though  still 
walking  forward,  looked  at  Clem,  he  could  scarcely  inter 
pret  his  expression.  Antagonism  he  could  read,  to  be  sure, 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGi:   COVE.       293 

in  the  hard-set  jaw,  the  gleam  of  his  teeth  between  his  half- 
parted  lips,  the  glitter  of  his  eye  ;  but  a  sort  of  uncertainty 
was  shadowed  in  his  manner,  with  a  tumultuous,  fluttering 
excitement,  a  badgered,  hopeless,  yet  still  struggling  anx 
iety  ?  —  he  could  not  account  for  these  in  the  light  of  the 
present  surroundings.  A  much  wiser  man  could  hardly 
have  divined  the  turbulent  perplexity  that  surged  through 
Clem's  mind,  the  coercive  rigors  of  decision  and  yet  the 
wild  regret  for  whatever  course  he  took.  He  seemed  to 
himself  to  be  living  at  a  climax.  Every  breath  he  drew 
chronicled  an  emergency.  He  was  in  the  clutch  of  contra 
dictions,  the  victim  of  distorted  and  strangely  reversed  cir 
cumstances.  He  had  set  the  machinery  of  vengeance  in 
motion  again  when  it  had  seemed  to  flag,  and  he  had  wished 
to  hinder.  He  had  forced  himself  upon  Teck  Jepson  as  his 
lieutenant  in  this  abhorrent  enterprise,  hoping  that  in  the 
guise  of  lending  him  aid  he  might  be  able  to  frustrate  him 
utterly.  Yet  he  was  beginning  to  perceive  that,  should  his 
scheme  in  aught  go  awry,  it  would  seem  to  Marcella  as  if 
he  had  been  foremost  and  active  in  the  participation  in  the 
deed  which  she  deemed  an  infamous  cruelty,  and  which  her 
father  accounted  a  crime.  His  senses  reeled  as  he  sought 
to  escape  his  dilemma.  He  wished  himself  back  at  the 
barn,  leaving  Jepson  to  conduct  the  affair  at  his  own  impe 
rious  will,  and  he  wondered  futilely  and  bitterly  why  he 
should  have  come  forth  at  all  in  obedience  to  an  impulse 
so  strong,  but  so  unreasoning.  What  had  he,  in  his  folly, 
expected  to  do  ?  What  could  it  avail  to  keep  by  Jepson 's 
side,  and  hold  him  under  surveillance  ?  He  realized  acutely 
that  his  simple  brain  was  no  instrument  for  clever  schem 
ing,  —  that  every  course  of  action  which  he  sought  to  plan 
had  only  its  preliminary  impulse,  thereafter  dwindling  to 
vague  nullity  in  lieu  of  logical  sequences.  Nevertheless, 
he  caught  himself  ever  and  anon  casting  sidelong  glances 
at  Teck  Jepson,  informed  with  a  wild  inclination  to  spring 
upon  him  unaware,  and  stifle  his  cries,  and  overbear  him  — 


294        THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDCE    COVE. 

for  what  ?  Even  the  futureless  Clem  could  look  forward 
far  enough  to  anticipate  the  sallying  forth  of  the  reserves 
at  the  barn  after  so  long  a  time,  in  default  of  any  sign  from 
the  leader  of  the  expedition. 

"  I  don't  wanter  stan'  in  Jake  Baintree's  shoes,"  he  mut 
tered,  forecasting  their  fury  if  balked.  His  tone,  though  so 
low,  was  audible,  so  silent  was  the  night,  to  the  man  who 
walked  by  his  side. 

Jepson  cast  a  glance  of  deep  objection  upon  him. 

"  His  shoes  air  mebbe  powerful  safe  foot-gear,"  he  re 
turned.  "  It  depends  on  what  he  be  a-doin'  of,  an'  what 
sort'n  account  he  kin  gin  o'  hisself.  Ye  air  jes'  like  them 
men  yander  ;  "  he  nodded  his  head  backward  toward  the 
barn.  "  They  'pear  ter  rate  tharse'fs  with  a  pack  o'  hounds 
arter  a  wild  critter  what  they  hev  got  a  nateral  right  ter 
pull  down.  They  fairly  yelled  ez  ef  they  had  struck  the 
trail  o'  deer  or  bar,  whenst  they  hearn  that  hammer  fust 
tech  the  metal." 

Clem  Sanders  suddenly  lost  his  scanty  self-control. 

"  I  know  whar  ye  got  all  that  thar  fine  talk  from,"  he 
flared  out  in  jealous  rage-  ;<  Powerful  nice  an'  perlite  ter 
be  a-comparin'  baptized  Christians  ter  hounds  an'  sech.  Ye 
been  a-talkin'  ter  Marcelly  Strobe.  Them 's  her  very 
words." 

The  next  moment,  the  tide  of  suspicion  that  had  rolled 
in  so  turnultuously  upon  him  was  ebbing  gradually.  Once 
more  he  was  to  learn  the  irrevocability  of  a  word  given  to 
the  air.  The  idea  that  sound-waves,  once  astir,  infinitely 
vibrate  to  perpetuate  a  record,  albeit  too  subtle  for  mortal 
ear,  was  not  even  a  vague  theory  with  him,  but  he  experi 
enced  in  some  sort  its  practical  illustration.  Teck  Jepson 
had  paused  in  the  road,  smitten  motionless  in  amazement, 
and  the  inadvertent  Clem  saw  gradually  dawning  in  his 
eyes,  widely  opened  and  speculatively  fixed  upon  him,  the 
counterpart  of  the  view  which  he  himself  had  entertained. 
The  inference  was  too  plain  for  him  to  hope  that  it  might 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       295 

be  passed  over.  It  was  now  not  difficult  to  divine  his  con 
fidences,  and  where  they  had  been  bestowed.  It  was  evi 
dent,  too,  that  with  these  words  Marcella  had  received 
them. 

Jepson  said  nothing.  He  still  stood  where  he  had 
paused,  the  moonlight  a  burnished  glitter  upon  the  barrel  of 
the  pistol  that  he  held  in  his  hand.  His  face,  white  in  the 
pallid  sheen,  was  reflective.  He  gazed  now,  not  at  Clem 
Sanders,  but  beyond  him,  into  the  vague  shimmer  of  the 
frost  amongst  the  black  shadows  of  the  woods  ;  the  curled 
dead  leaves  on  the  ground  held  within  their  curves  the 
fine  sparkling  incrustation  ;  every  bramble  of  the  under 
growth  close  by  the  roadside  showed  lines  of  silver  gleams, 
and  through  the  heavy  interlacing  boughs  of  the  gigantic 
trees  above  their  heads,  rising  high  into  the  clear  air, 
came  the  crystalline  scintillation  of  the  stars.  Encircling 
all,  the  mountains  stood  sombre  and  lofty,  sharply  defined 
against  the  sky ;  adown  the  road  the  heavy  shadows 
gloomed  ;  suddenly,  athwart  them  a  red  light  flared,  and 
the  sigh  of  the  bellows  breathed  forth.  Teck  Jepson, 
reminded  of  their  destination,  turned  abruptly  from  the 
road,  which  they  had  hitherto  followed,  into  the  under 
growth  of  the  woods. 

"  Bes'  take  ter  the  bresh,"  Jepson  remarked  in  an  under 
tone.  "  They  mought  hev  set  a  lookout  ter  watch  the 
road." 

Despite  its  denudation  by  the  autumnal  storm,  the 
"  brush "  still  afforded  a  dense  covert,  by  reason  of  the 
young  growth  of  the  pines,  whose  lower  branches  jutted 
out  level  with  the  ground,  and  the  predominance  in  its 
midst  of  the  ever-green  laurel.  The  crestfallen  Clem  kept 
close  at  Jepson's  heels,  as  he  pushed  cautiously  through  the 
shrubs,  laden  with  the  white  rime  and  glittering  with  the 
moon.  Now  and  again  some  dry  fallen  bough  cracked 
beneath  Clem's  careless,  heavy  tread,  and  thorns  of  stripped 
bushes  caught  and  tore  his  garments,  the  rending  of  the 


296       THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOM  SEDGE   COVE, 
fabric  loud  in  the  dumbness  of  the  windless  autumn  nio-ht. 

c> 

And  when  this  chanced  Jepson  cast  over  his  shoulder  a 
warning  glance,  imposing  silence  and  heed,  so  freighted 
with  the  spirit  of  their  expedition,  so  oblivious  of  all  else, 
that  Clem,  preposterously  hopeful,  began  to  breathe  more 
freely.  Surely  he  had  not  so  definitely  committed  himself 
as  he  had  feared.  In  the  excitement  of  the  moment,  he 
perchance  did  not  distinguish  between  what  he  thought  and 
what  he  said.  Jepson  doubtless  had  not  comprehended  ; 
had  he  not  stood  like  a  stock  in  the  road  and  stared,  mo 
tionless  and  mute  ?  When  he  saw  Jepson  pause  beneath  the 
gnarled,  low-hanging  boughs  of  a  chestnut,  gray  with  lichen, 
and  here  and  there  glimmering  icily  as  if  in  presentiment  of 
the  coining  snows,  this  idea  had  so  possessed  him  that  he 
had  no  apprehension  that  his  coadjutor  had  aught  of  sig 
nificance  to  say. 

Jepson  lifted  grave,  intent  eyes  as  Clem  came  stumbling 
up.  He  was  leaning,  as  he  waited,  against  the  tree.  His 
hat  was  thrust  far  back,  and  his  face  was  all  unshaded  ;  it 
seemed  melancholy,  but  the  light  was  pensive,  and  his  voice 
had  always  those  falling  inflections. 

"  She  war  agin  it,  then,"  he  said,  and  the  tone  had  none 
of  the  spirit  of  interrogation. 

Clem  took  an  unguarded  step  backward,  recoiling  as  if 
he  had  been  struck.  Then  he  clumsily  recovered  his  equilib 
rium,  standing  unsteadily  on  the  uneven  ground.  He  made 
some  feint  of  self-defense. 

"  Who  air  ye  a-talkin'  'bout  ? "  he  demanded  gruffly, 
slouching  his  heavy  shoulders  forward  and  fixing  his  long, 
narrow,  gleaming  eyes  surlily  on  Jepson. 

"  Marcelly  Strobe,"  Jepson  answered  promptly.  "  Ye 
said  she  'lowed  them  men  war  like  hounds  on  a  trail.  She 
war  agin  'em,  then." 

Clem  made  still  another  desperate  effort  to  shield  himself. 
"  She  said  some  men  —  ginerally.  How  'd  she  know  cnny- 
thin'  'bout  our  goin's  on  ?  " 


THE   DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       297 

"  How  'd  she  know?  Kase  ye  told  her,"  retorted  the 
discerning  Jepson.  "  An*  it  air  ez  much  ez  yer  life  air 
wuth." 

This  knowledge,  familiar  enough  to  his  own  conscious 
ness,  became  doubly  impressive  and  coercively  veracious  in 
another  man's  words.  Clem  Sanders,  stout-hearted  as  he 
was,  felt  the  sudden  thrill  of  panic.  It  sharpened  his 
faculties. 

"  It  air  jes'  ez  likely  ye  told  her  ez  me  —  ef  she  knows" 
he  equivocated.  "  Hyar  ye  air,  a-dilly-dallyin'  in  the  woods, 
'feard  ter  move  hand  or  foot,  doubtin'  'bout  whether  she 
air  agin  it  or  no.  I  ain't  showed  ez  I  set  no  sech  store  by 
sech  ez  she  thinks  or  don't  think.  Ef  ennybody  told  her, 
it  mought  jes'  ez  well  hev  been  you-uns" 

Jepson's  reproachful  and  surprised  gaze  dealt  a  poignant 
wound  to  Clem's  careless  conscience,  but  it  failed  to  elicit 
confession.  k-  Ef  she  won't  tell,  the  Lord  knows  /  won't," 
he  thought,  but  knowing  his  uncontrollable  tongue,  he  was 
glad  that  Jepson  began  to  speak  of  himself. 

"  I  ain't  one  ter  falter  fur  sech  ez  others  say,"  protested 
Jepson,  "  though  I  ain't  got  the  pleasure  in  this  hyar  busi 
ness  ez  folks  in  the  old  time  'peared  ter  take.  Them  in  the 
Bible  never  turned  fur  the  sight  o'  blood,  an'  they  hung 
folks  an'  chopped  'em  into  minch  meat,  an'  seemed  ter  find 
a  savor  in  sech  doin's  ez  all  my  religion  can't  gin  !  I  can't 
holp  feelin'  sorter  sorry  fur  the  evil-doer  wunst  in  a  while, 
specially  whenst  the  avenger  air  hard  on  his  track ;  fur  my 
heart  is  weak  an'  needs  strengthenin'  from  above.  The 
men  o'  this  day  air  pore,  degenerate  critters,  an'  don't  sense 
jestice  much  more  'n  Marcelly  Strobe.  But  my  hand  air 
nerved  by  a  stronger  power  'n  I  kin  command,  an'  I  dare 
all  the  mountings  ter  show  the  road  whar  I  tuk  the  back 
track,  or  tell  the  day." 

He  turned,  resolutely  pushing  on  toward  the  forge,  and 
Clem  Sanders,  greatly  cast  down  and  too  much  troubled  to 
even  glance  toward  the  future,  kept  at  his  elbow. 


298   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOM  SEDGE  COVE. 

The  ringing  clamor  of  the  hammer  came  to  them  again 
as  they  pressed  on,  not  regular,  but  with  fitful  pauses  ;  and 
by  the  time  that  they  were  at  the  verge  of  the  woods  they 
heard  voices,  loudly  conversing,  casual  voices.  The  tones 
came  from  the  forge,  and  alternated  with  the  clink  of  the 
hammer. 

The  next  moment  the  little  low-browed  log  shanty  was 
before  them,  seen  through  the  arching  vistas  of  the  laurel 
and  the  oak ;  its  slanting  roof  glistened  with  moisture  ;  the 
crag  loomed  high  above,  with  the  sentinel  pines  on  its  sum 
mit.  Beyond  the  valley  the  dark  mountains,  black  but  for 
dusky  olive-green  suggestions,  were  visible  against  the  hori 
zon  ;  and  the  moon,  a  sphere  of  gleaming  pearl,  swung 
high  in  the  violet  sky.  The  long  path  of  light  it  shed  upon 
the  river  stretched  from  bank  to  bank  and  seemed  to  part 
the  dark  lustrous  waters,  and  Jepson  bethought  himself  of 
that  miraculous  road  in  the  midst  of  the  Red  Sea,  when 
Israel  trod  its  ways  dry  shod,  with  the  waves  like  a  wall  on 
either  hand.  In  front  of  the  forge,  a  feeble  red  flare  al 
ternated  with  a  fleeting  brown  flicker  as  the  sigh  of  the 
bellows  again  broke  forth.  When,  suddenly,  the  two  vigi 
lantes  stood  in  the  broad,  open  doorway,  a  man  was  at  the 
anvil  once  more,  and  its  keen,  tine  vibrations  rang  out 
responsive  to  the  shrill  tone  of  the  hand-hammer,  for  he  had 
no  striker. 

He  did  not  move,  for  all  he  must  have  seen  their  eager 
eyes  fastened  upon  him. 

"  Hey  !  "  he  cried  out,  with  a  gay  intonation,  not  inter 
mitting  his  labors.  "  Hello  !  " 

That  he  was  a  stranger,  a  man  of  medium  size  and  slen 
derly  built,  bending  over  the  anvil  in  the  shadow,  since  the 
fire  languished  for  the  lack  of  the  breath  of  the  bellows,  was 
the  merely  momentary  impression  made  upon  Jepson's  mind. 
His  eyes  fell  upon  a  woman  sitting  on  an  inverted  keg  in 
the  red  light  of  the  dusky,  half-illumined  room ;  he  did  not 
recognize  her  instantly,  although  she  rose  at  once  and 
advanced  upon  them. 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.   299 

Clem  Sanders  stepped  back,  a  look  of  astounded  doubt, 
as  if  he  could  not  believe  his  eyes,  contending  with  the  cer 
tainty  in  his  face.  For  the  woman  was  his  mother. 

"  Waal,  I  hev  hunted  fur  ye,  an'  hunted,"  she  addressed 
him  in  a  tone  of  acrid  exasperation.  "  An'  I  hollered  an' 
hollered.  An'  I  sent  leetle  Silas  hyar  "  —  she  pointed  to 
a  small  nephew  of  Clem's,  a  frequent  visitor  at  the  black 
smith's  house,  whom  Jepson  had  not  seen  until  this  moment, 
a  tow-headed  urchin  of  twelve,  who  sat  in  a  crouching 
position  on  the  hub  of  a  broken  wheel  which  lay  on  the 
floor —  "  ter  hunt  fur  ye,  an'  he  could  n't  find  ye.  Hyar  's 
a  strange  man  in  the  Cove  kem  up  ter  the  house  a-sarchin' 
fur  ye,  an  'wantin  'a  leetle  job  o'  blacksmithin'  done,  an'  ye 
can't  be  rooted  out  from  nowhar  !  " 

She  was  a  tall,  angular,  thin-faced  woman,  with  an  ex 
pression  of  gravity  and  care  in  her  lined  features,  and  she 
had  a  tone  that  boded  the  rigors  of  domestic  inquisition  as 
she  demanded,  "  Whar  hev  ye  been  ?  " 

Clem's  wildly  anxious  glance  at  his  tools  in  the  stranger's 
hands  availed  nothing.  The  account  of  himself  was  evi 
dently  the  essential  preliminary. 

Jepson  touched  his  shoulder  with  his  own  as  a  secret 
warning,  as  they  stood  side  by  side  in  the  door  of  the  forge, 
but  had  the  disclosure  been  far  more  significant  the  hap-haz- 
ard  Clem  would  have  nevertheless  blurted  it  out  as  he  did. 

"  In  the  barn,"  he  replied. 

"  Ye  air  tellin'  a  story,"  his  mother  retorted,  with  a  man 
ner  reprehensive  certainly,  but  with  a  coolness  as  if  con 
templating  an  offense  of  infinitely  multiplied  precedents. 
"  I  sent  leetle  Silas  ter  the  barn,  an'  he  'lowed  ye  war  n't 
thar,  though  he  hearn  harnts  talkin'  in  the  loft,  an'  they 
made  him  'feard.  An',"  lifting  her  bony  arm,  shaking  her 
forefinger,  and  lowering  her  voice  impressively,  as  if  fairly 
cornering  him,  "  I  sent  him  agin  ter  climb  up  inter  the 
loft,  ez  no  harnts  would  hurt  him  with  me  so  nigh,  an'  he 
kem  back,  an',"  triumphantly,  "  he  say  ye  war  n't  thar, 
nuther." 


300   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

The  small  Silas,  disingenuous  beyond  his  years  and  size, 
turned  his  eyes,  which  were  of  a  very  light  color,  and  with 
a  superabundance  of  white,  that  made  them  marked  even  in 
the  duskiness,  with  a  pleading  apprehensiveness  upon  his 
uncle,  but  the  excited,  confused  Clem  was  quaking,  even  at 
this  moment,  with  the  danger  overpast.  How  closely  dis 
covery  had  approached  the  vigilantes  in  the  barn  !  He  had 
not  his  wits  sufficiently  about  him  to  reproach  his  mother 
for  believing  the  deceptive  Silas  rather  than  himself. 

"  Whar  hev  ye  been  ?  "  she  demanded  anew.  Then  with 
the  impetus  of  her  long  pent-up  rebukes  constraining  her  she 
went  on  without  waiting  for  an  answer. 

"  Hyar  be  this  hyar  man,  obligated  ter  hev  his  tools 
mended,  kase  his  work  calls  him  betimes  ter-morrer  by  day 
light,  an'  him  a  stranger  in  the  Cove,  an'  he  'lowed  mebbe  he 
mought  git  a  leetle  blacksmithin'  done,  though  't  war  arter 
dark,  bein'  ez  his  work  called  him  far  up  in  the  mountings 
by  daylight.  An'  me  an'  Silas  kem  down  hyar  ter  see  ef 
we-uns  could  find  yer  tools,  bein'  ez  ye  war  nowhar,  so  ez 
he  could  patch  his  pick  hisse'f.  He  'lowed  he  knowed  suthin' 
'bout  blacksmithin'  "  — 

"  Mighty  leetle,  I  '11  be  bound  !  "  cried  Clem,  his  profes 
sional  consciousness  restored  by  this  arrogation  on  the  part 
of  the  stranger.  He  dropped  the  hang-dog  look  that  he  had 
worn  under  his  mother's  lecture,  and  strode  with  his  habit 
ual  easy,  confident  air  across  the  room  and  stood  beside  the 
anvil,  watching  the  amateur  smith's  performance  with  an 
air  of  silent,  repressed  ridicule  and  half-smiling  scorn. 

"  Go  ahead,"  he  observed,  with  affected  encouragement, 
as  the  young  stranger  looked  up  and  hesitated.  "  What  air 
ye  goin'  ter  do  now,  —  bet  it  some  mo'  ?  "  as  the  other 
turned  doubtfully  toward  the  fire.  "  Ho  !  ho  !  "  with  a 
manner  of  bluff  superiority.  "  Shucks  !  Git  out  o'  the  way, 
my  frien'.  Lemme  show  ye  what  blacksmithin'  air." 

He  shouldered  the  stranger  summarily  from  his  own  post 
at  the  anvil,  then  paused  to  take  up  the  bit  of  iron,  on  which 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.   301 

the  amateur  had  been  working,  and  shook  his  head  smil 
ingly,  as  if  with  an  unspeakable  contempt,  as  he  carefully 
surveyed  this  handiwork.  He  turned  and  thrust  it  amongst 
the  coals,  evidently  rejecting  it  as  a  mere  beginning,  and 
starting  the  process  anew. 

"  I  'm  willing,"  the  stranger  said,  with  a  laugh,  as  if  ac 
cepting  good-naturedly  this  cavalier  criticism  ;  and  Jepson 
divined  that  he  did  not  consider  proficiency  at  the  anvil  the 
chief  object  of  existence.  The  amateur  smith,  however, 
offered  to  work  the  bellows,  but  Clem,  with  a  contemptuous 
"Don't  take  two  men  ter  do  a  leetle  job  like  this,"  dis 
couraged  further  proffers  of  assistance,  and  then  bent 
himself  to  the  work  with  as  complete  an  absorption  as  if 
there  were  no  ban(^  of  expectant,  eager,  bloodthirsty  men 
waiting  at  the  barn  for  a  signal,  and  as  if  Teck  Jepson's 
presence,  as  he  stood  in  the  door,  were  not  more  significant 
than  his  daily  loitering  there. 

The  white  light  of  the  fire  flaring  up  as  Clem  worked 
the  bellows  with  one  hand,  while  holding  the  metal  in  the 
coals  with  the  other,  revealed  the  stranger  to  the  scrutiny 
of  Jepson,  who,  recovering  from  his  surprise,  was  taking 
due  note  of  him.  He  sought  to  be  just;  to  contend  with 
mere  suspicion  ;  to  separate  his  consideration  of  the  subject 
from  the  personal  interest  that  persistently  linked  itself 
with  the  circumstances.  How  much  had  Marcella  known  ? 
Had  she  taken  any  action  in  the  matter  ?  And  with  what 
motive  ?  He  could  not  banish  these  thoughts,  however,  as 
he  gazed  at  the  stranger,  who  leaned  against  the  elevated 
hearth,  affecting  to  watch  the  smith's  work,  but  with  a 
tense,  alert  attitude,  and  a  wary  eye  that  ever  and  anon 
furtively  sought  the  silent  figure  standing  in  the  broad, 
moonlit  doorway,  with  the  dark  landscape,  silver-flecked, 
vaguely  visible  in  the  background.  His  light  hair  made 
his  head  very  definite  against  the  black  and  sooty  hood  of 
the  forge.  Now  and  then  he  put  up  a  slender  hand,  and 
pulled  his  long,  yellow  mustache  with  a  gesture  and  man- 


302   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

ner  alien  to  the  mountains.  His  attitude  and  garb,  the 
very  shape  of  his  boot,  marked  and  individualized  him. 
He  was  not  of  the  region. 

None  of  this  did  Clem  Sanders  observe  as  he  worked. 
Once  he  held  up  the  precious  little  tongs.  "This  is  yer 
doin',"  he  said  reproachfully,  indicating  a  small  protuber 
ance  where  the  piece,  broken  off,  had  been  welded  on  again. 

The  stranger  burst  into  a  laugh,  showing  his  strong  white 
teeth  beneath  his  yellow  mustache.  A  pleasant  face  he  had, 
with  this  more  jovial  expression  upon  it.  Clem  Sanders's 
frown  relaxed  as  he  looked  at  him. 

"  So  you  've  found  me  out,  have  you  ?  This  ain't  the  first 
time  I  've  been  here,"  he  said  easily. 

And  then,  although  it  might  not  be  s{iid  how  it  was  done, 
for  there  was  not  a  perceptible  lifting  of  an  eyelid  nor  a 
hair's-breadth  turning  of  the  head,  Teck  Jepson  was  aware 
that  the  stranger  had  covertly  noted  the  effect  of  the  words 
upon  him.  Already  he  had  made  the  distinction  between 
the  two  men  as  to  which  was  to  be  feared. 

"Yes,  that's  a  fac'  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Sanders,  with  an  un 
wonted  animation.  The  singular  event  in  her  dull  experi 
ence  had  roused  a  not  unpleasurable  excitement,  and  she  had 
regarded  the  absorption  of  the  two  at  the  anvil  with  a  re 
luctant  sense  of  being  shut  out  from  continued  participation, 
and  having  reached  a  finality.  The  allusion  to  the  past 
revived  her  capacity  for  extracting  interest  from  the  cir 
cumstance.  "  What  d'  ye  think,  Clem  ?  This  hyar  man 
'lows  ez  one  night,  not  so  long  ago,  he  started  over  the 
mountings,  ter  kem  down  hyar  ter  git  his  pickaxe  mended, 
—  it  war  bruk,  —  an'  he  los'  his  way,  an'  miscalc'lated  his 
time  somehows,  an'  't  war  middlin'  late  'fore  he  got  hyar. 
An'  he  kem  ter  the  house,  an'  knocked  an'  knocked,  an' 
never  rousted  up  nobody.  So  —  ha,  ha  !  "  the  detail  seemed 
to  commend  itself  to  Mrs.  Sanders's  sense  of  humor,  as  she 
sat  bolt  upright  on  the  keg  of  nails  and  recounted  ;  "  so  ez 
he  war  goin'  back  he  passed  by  hyar,  an'  a  suddint  thought 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       303 

streck  him :  he  jes'  kindled  up  the  fire,  —  thar  war  a  few 
coals  lef  alive, — an'  mended  his  tool  hisse'f.  He  say  he 
jes'  wondered  what  we-ims  would  hev  said  ef  we  hed  woke, 
an'  seen  the  light  an'  hearn  the  hammer  !  I  'd  hev  'lowed 
't  war  Satan,  or  a  harnt,  one." 

She  folded  her  arms,  and  with  a  deft  motion  of  her  head 
shook  her  sun-bonnet  a  little  further  back,  that  she  might 
turn  her  smile  upon  the  stranger  ;  not  so  pleasing  a  demon 
stration  as  its  good-nature  might  have  desired  to  make  it, 
for  she  had  lost  several  of  her  front  teeth,  and  those  that 
were  left  were  conspicuous  in  their  isolation.  It  showed 
Teck  Jepson  that  the  stranger  had  succeeded  in  winning 
her  good  opinion  ;  and  even  Clem,  more  thoroughly  informed 
though  he  was,  lifted  his  eyebrows  and  looked  significantly 
at  his  coadjutor,  evidently  accepting  this  candid  and  obvious 
explanation  of  the  mystery.  Jepson  began  to  see  that  he 
need  expect  nothing  but  hindrance  from  both  mother  and 
son,  and  that  the  least  plausible  wiles  might  prove  effica 
cious  to  hoodwink  these  simple  souls.  He  still  stood  in  the 
doorway,  but  leaning  against  its  frame,  his  arms  folded 
across  his  broad  chest,  his  hat  far  back  on  his  head  ;  and 
although  he  often  gazed  up  speculatively  at  the  moon,  whose 
light  was  full  in  his  face,  he  saw  that  the  stranger  still  held 
his  every  movement  under  notice,  and  gave  him  the  atten 
tion  of  a  speculative  glance  after  every  phrase,  as  if  seek 
ing  to  judge  how  it  impressed  him. 

The  pause  was  broken  only  by  a  cricket,  in  some  shel 
tered  nook  among  the  eaves,  and  a  wheezing  coughing  that 
Silas  presently  set  up,  as  if  some  of  the  lies  he  had  told 
were  choking  him,  as  he  crouched  on  the  hub  of  the  broken 
wheel.  But  when  Mrs.  Sanders  remarked,  that  she  would 
give  him  some  hoarhound  when  she  got  him  to  the  house, 
he  contrived  to  swallow  them  all,  and  relapsed  into  wide- 
eyed  silence. 

"  That  was  the  time  I  broke  the  tongs.  I  was  here  once 
besides,"  said  the  stranger,  who  seemed  to  feel  more  and 
more  at  ease. 


304       THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE. 

"  Ye  don't  say  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Sanders,  who  evidently 
thought  the  intrusions  a  great  joke. 

"Waal,  stranger,"  said  Teck  Jepson,  and  the  man's 
nerves  became  tense  and  his  face  rigid  and  watchful  the 
moment  the  melancholy,  drawling,  mellow  voice  sounded  on 
the  air,  "  what  mought  yer  work  be  on  the  mounting  ?  " 

Mrs.  Sanders  cast  a  glance  of  indignant  reproof  at  her 
neighbor,  for  the  slighest  manifestation  of  curiosity  con 
cerning  another's  affairs  is  a  flagrant  breach  of  mountain 
etiquette. 

But  the  stranger  answered  quickly,  as  if  he  were  pre 
pared  to  meet  the  question  and  glad  to  have  it  asked.  He 
had  a  sudden,  sharply  clipped  method  of  enunciation, 
doubly  marked  in  contrast  with  the  mountaineer's  elonga 
tion  of  the  vowels.  His  words  were  even  more  compact 
and  staccato  than  their  wont. 

"  I  'm  prospecting,  —  prospecting  for  silver." 

There  was  a  momentary  silence.  Even  Clem  held  the 
hammer  poised  for  an  instant,  while  the  iron  glowed  on  the 
anvil,  and  looked  contemptuous  comment  from  out  his  long, 
narrow,  twinkling  eyes.  Mrs.  Sanders  observed,  "  Law, 
stranger,  ain't  ye  got  no  better  sense  'n  that  ?  Thar  ain't 
no  silver  in  these  mountings,  —  leastwise  none  the  yearth  's 
a-goin'  ter  spare.  Jes'  enough  ter  fool  fellers  inter  wastin' 
thar  time." 

"  An'  breakin'  the  p'ints  off  n  thar  good  pickaxes,"  added 
Clem,  examining  the  implement  with  some  interest ;  "  fust- 
rate  one,  too,  —  oughter  las'  ye  a  long  time." 

Jepson  watched  the  stranger  color  with  vexation ;  then 
recovering  himself  he  casually  observed,  "  I  reckon  may  be 
I  '11  come  up  with  a  little  silver,  after  a  while  ;  indications 
are  first-rate." 

"  Thar  war  a  man,"  Jepson  began  abruptly,  "  he  lived 
hyarabouts  five  year  ago  an'  better  —  he  b'lieved  thar  war 
silver  hyar.  He  got  put  down  in  the  mouth  of  a  cave  ;  his 
partner  done  it ;  he  war  n't  seen  no  more." 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.m      305 

The  stranger's  light  brown  eyes  were  all  afire.  He  leaned 
forward,  and  held  out  one  arm  to  Jepson.  "  Say  !  "  he  ex 
claimed,  "  do  you  know  where  that  exact  cave  is  ?  " 

Jepson  turned  an  impassive  look  upon  him.  "  Dunno  the 
edzac'  spot,  an'  don't  want  ter  know." 

A  patent  disappointment  was  on  the  stranger's  face. 
Then  he  said,  '"  I  ain't  one  of  the  kind  that  gets  put  down 
in  caves  ;  you  needn't  be  uneasy  about  me." 

This  was  something  in  the  nature  of  a  flippant  retort.  He 
was  evidently  sorry  for  it  immediately  afterward,  and  there 
was  a  deprecatory  expression  on  his  face  as  he  looked  at 
Jepson,  who,  however,  showed  no  sign  of  feeling  of  any 
sort  as  he  inquired,  — 

'°  Who  did  ye  hev  ter  strike  fur  ye  when  ye  kem  ter  the 
forge  ?  Could  ye  do  sech  work  by  yerself  ?  " 

He  fixed  his  contemplative  eyes  on  the  stranger's  face- 
It  was  not  an  ingenuous  face,  but  the  circumstances  were 
coercive,  and  it  showed  the  heed,  the  fear,  the  vacillating 
hope,  that  animated  him  as  he  replied,  "Yes,  I  had  Jake 
Baintree  to  strike  for  me." 

His  lips  were  dry.  He  bit  the  nether  one  hard  as  he 
looked  at  Jepson,  seeing  in  his  eyes  thr.t  he  understood 
much,  —  much  that  was  not  said. 

For  Jepson  knew  well  that  this  man  had  been  warned, 
and  that  he  had  flung  himself  for  safety  upon  the  truth, 
perchance  with  some  slight  admixture,  realizing  that  the 
boldness  of  innocence  alone  could  rescue  him.  As  to  Bain- 
tree,  it  was  eminently  in  character  that  he  should  cringe,  and 
cower,  and  lurk  in  hiding,  knowing  that  the  investigation 
by  vigilantes  impended. 

Nevertheless,  despite  Clem's  confidences  to  Marcella  and 
the  warning  which  she  had  doubtless  conveyed,  it  was  evi 
dent  that  the  facts  could  be  elicited  here  and  now  as  well  as 
if  the  men  had  been  taken  by  surprise.  The  stranger  made 
no  resistance  to  the  inquiry,  and  this  indicated  that  he  rec 
ognized  its  inevitable  character,  and  had  not  sought  to  shirk 


306   TUE,  DESPOT  OF  BROOUSEDGE  COVE. 


it.  Jepson  went  on  steadily,  unmoved  by  any  consideration 
save  the  effort  to  perform  his  duty  to  the  organization  that 
had  intrusted  him  with  his  mission.  But  notwithstanding 
its  paramount  interest,  it  seemed  secondary  in  importance, 
in  Clem's  estimation,  to  the  necessity  of  forging  the  bit  of 
metal  on  the  anvil,  and  the  subsequent  conversation  took 
place  annotated  by  his  ringing  blows,  from  which  the 
stranger,  his  nerves  on  the  rack,  palpably  recoiled,  but 
which  had  scant  effect  on  the  more  impassive  mountaineer, 
save  to  induce  him  to  slightly  lift  his  voice. 

"  How  long  hev  ye  been  bidin'  in  the  mountings  ?  " 

"  Since  August." 

"  Dell-law  !  "  commented  Mrs.  Sanders.  "  Ye  hev  kep' 
yerse'f  mightily  ter  yerse'f  ;  I  '11  say  that  fur  ye." 

The  logical  inference  might  be  that  she  commended  his 
magnanimity  in  sparing  them  his  society.  But  the  good 
woman  meant  nothing  of  this  kind,  her  exclamation  being 
simply  a  rural  formula. 

"  Who  hev  ye  bided  with?  "  demanded  Jepson. 

The  stranger  colored  slightly.  Then  making  an  effort  to 
put  the  matter  in  its  most  favorable  aspect,  he  replied  with 
some  show  of  communicativeness  :  — 

"•  With  Baintree.  You  see  I  was  his  doctor  —  I  am  a 
physician  by  profession  —  when  he  was  in  jail  in  Glaston, 
the  regular  jail  -  physician  being  ill  himself,  and  Baintree 
told  me  about  the  silver  mine  he  thought  he  had  discovered. 
So  I  came  to  see  if  it  were  true.  I  happen  to  know  some 
thing  about  mining.  But  Jake,  —  he  's  a  queer  fish,  —  he 
was  n't  willing  for  anybody  to  know  what  we  were  after.  I 
believe  he  never  tells  me  truly  where  his  best  find  was  ;  he 
thinks  somebody  will  chouse  him  out  of  it  yet." 

"  Ez  ef  ennybody  would  hev  it,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Sanders, 
with  sweeping  contempt,  "  an'  ez  ef  thar  war  enny  ter 
hev  !  " 

"  Whar  hev  ye  bided  with  him  ?  "  asked  Jepson,  seem 
ingly  all  unaffected  by  any  phase  of  the  detail. 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.   307 

"  Waal,  Teck  Jepson  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Sanders,  scandalized  by 
his  curiosity,  as  she  construed  his  persistence,  "  ye  mils'  hev 
heel  yer  tongue  iled.  I  hev  never  hearn  sech  a  lot  o'  whys 
an'  wharfores  ez  it  hev  got  on  ter  the  e-end  o'  it  ter-night." 

But  the  catechumen  responded  at  once,  scarcely  waiting 
for  her  to  finish  her  sentence.  "  We  stayed  for  a  while  in 
a  deserted  house,  —  the  old  Jepson  house,  he  said  it  was." 

"  His'n  !  "  broke  in  Mrs.  Sanders,  identifying  the  locality 
joyously,  and  pointing  Jepson  out  still  more  unmistakably 
with  a  long,  bony  index-finger. 

"  Is  it  yours  ?  "  said  the  young  stranger.  "  Well,  the  owner 
came  and  fired  out  our  traps,  one  day.  while  we  were  gone, 
so  we  went  to  another  deserted  cabin,  up  near  the  summit 
of  the  mountain." 

*'  Mighty  cur'ous  way  ter  be  a-livin',"  commented  Mrs. 
Sanders,  with  a  very  definite  infusion  of  scorn.  "  An'  fur 
a  silver  mine,  ez  mought  be  in  the  mountings,  an'  then  agin 
mought  n't.  Look-a-hyar,  stranger,  ain't  ye  'quainted  with 
nobody  in  Brumsaitlge  Cove  mo'  'spectable  'n  Jake  Bain- 
tree  ?  " 

There  was  a  sudden  triumph  in  the  young  man's  face. 
He  shook  himself  free  from  his  unpalatable  confessions,  as 
if  they  had  been  a  cloak  falling  from  his  shoulders.  '•  I  'm 
acquainted  with  some  very  respectable  people,  —  verv  good 
people.  I  'in  well  acquainted  with  the  Strobe  family." 

He  had  lived  somewhat  in  the  world,  and  was  aware  that 
in  some  places  people  have  been  known  to  prop  their  social 
standing  by  bragging  of  their  acquaintances.  He  had  never 
thought  that  this  necessity  would  supervene  for  him  in 
Broomsedge  Cove. 

"  Dell-law !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Sanders,  seeming  as  de 
lighted  to  meet  the  Strobes  in  the  desolation  of  the  stran 
ger's  social  circle  —  which  had  consisted,  apparently,  of 
Jake  Baintree  —  as  if  she  had  encountered  them  in  the  soli 
tude  of  a  desert  island.  "  Old  Mis'  Strobe  !  " 

"  Yes,  old  Mrs.  Strobe,"  he  said,  "  and  the  young  girls, 
Miss  Marcella  and  little  Isabel." 


308   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOM  SEDGE  COVE. 

The  impartial,  judicial  interest  with  which  Teck  Jepson 
had  listened  gave  way  suddenly.  His  eyes  were  deeply 
glowing,  and  fastened  intently  on  the  stranger's  face.  His 
cheek  had  flushed  darkly.  Somehow  the  idea  of  the  warn 
ing  that  Marcella  had  conveyed  had  suggested  to  his  mind 
no  personal  association.  She  had  told  Baintree,  perhaps, 
he  had  thought,  or  she  had  sent  a  message.  But  her  name 
upon  the  stranger's  lips  —  the  very  sound  of  it  odd  and  in 
congruous,  with  his  unfamiliar  accent  and  the  unwonted  and 
punctilious  title  —  intimated  abruptly  the  possibility  of  a 
personal  interest,  of  a  longer  acquaintance,  of  a  future  of 
which  Jepson  had  never  dreamed.  She  had  risked  much,  — 
with  the  transparent  blacksmith  to  know  that  she  was  in 
possession  of  the  secret,  —  she  had  risked  much.  And  what 
a  dapper,  slender,  handsome  young  fool  was  this  silver  hun 
gry  stranger ! 

"  An'  Eli !  "  cried  Mrs.  Sanders  in  a  shrill  crescendo  of 
pleasurable  reminiscence. 

"  I  never  knew  him  before  he  was  injured.  But  I  had  a 
long  talk  with  him  this  evening,  and  "  —  he  drew  out  his 
watch  composedly  —  "  I  promised  him  that  I  would  come 
back  if  not  too  late,  after  I  got  through  at  the  forge  here. 
A  very  respectable  family,  and  very  hospitable." 


XVII. 

Ix  Clem  Sanders's  ingenuous  face  was  expressed  at  this 
moment  a  sudden  illogical,  full-fledged  anger  and  doubt,  as 
in  the  slow  processes  of  his  brain  was  revolved  the  idea  of 
the  stranger's  claim  to  consideration  on  the  score  of  a  friend 
ship  with  the  Strobe  family.  He  repudiated  it  as  a  figment. 
The  normal  repulsion  for  a  cold-blooded  lie,  as  he  fancied 
this  to  be,  chilled  even  his  good  nature.  He  had  been  weak, 
he  knew,  in  treacherously  revealing  the  secrets  of  his  asso 
ciates  to  Marcella,  and  he  had  incurred  thereby  heavy  risks. 
He  was  willing,  since  it  was  her  wish,  that  this  folly  should 
be  utilized  to  save  the  man's  life.  But  he  had  revolted 
from  sharing  in  the  subsequent  deceptions,  from  the  double- 
masked  character  which  he  was  forced  to  assume,  one  of 
the  chief  of  the  vigilantes  and  the  secret  ally  of  the  culprit. 
His  conclusions  had  a  certain  quality  of  absolute  conviction, 
which  triumphantly  dispensed  with  logic. 

u  Ye  don't  know  the  Strobe  fambly  !  "  he  said  suddenly. 
"  Ye  never  hearn  o'  nare  one  o'  'em  till  this  evenin'  in  yer 
born  days,  —  'thout  't  war  through  yer  frien'  Jake  Bain- 
tree's  vaporin's  an'  maunderin's  'bout  folks  he  ain't  fit  ter 
'sociate  with.  Eli  bein'  a  candidate  fur  office  so  frequent, 
he  hev  a  heap  o'  wuthless  folks  a-hangin'  round  him,  created 
by  God  A'mighty  furnuthin'  in  this  worl'  but  ter  vote  at  the 
polls.  Naw,  sir !  ye  ain't  reg'lar  'quainted  with  none  o'  the 
Strobe  fambly !  " 

He  had  ceased  to  work  at  the  anvil.  His  brow  showed 
several  corrugations  in  straight  lines,  his  eyebrows  were  ele 
vated,  his  narrow,  long  eyes  were  grave,  his  square  jaw  was 
hard  set.  He  still  held  the  uplifted  hammer  in  his  hand, 


310   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOUSEDGE  COVE. 

and  as  a  specimen  of  physical  force  he  might  have  been 
somewhat  awe-inspiring  to  the  slightly  huilt  stranger  ;  but 
the  paramount  impression  which  he  received  was  that  this 
was  Marcella's  informant,  whose  name  she  had  not  dis 
closed,  —  this  bold  and  inconsequent  Vulcan,  the  traitor  to 
the  League  of  Vigilantes. 

u  Now  crow  a  little  louder,  my  cock,  and  I  '11  have  your 
friends  wring  your  neck,  in  short  order  !  "  he  said  to  himself, 
feeling  still  master  of  the  situation. 

Outwardly  he  was  dumb,  silently  marking  the  blacksmith's 
demonstration  with  watchful  eyes,  leaning  against  the  ele 
vated  hearth,  the  tips  of  his  lingers  thrust  in  the  pockets  of 
his  trousers. 

"  Clem  Sanders,"  said  the  blacksmith's  mother,  much  dis 
pleased,  "  nuthin'  in  this  worl'  air  so  becomin'  ter  a  fool  ez 
a  shet  mouth.  Then  folks  kin  only  jedge  o'  what  God 
A'mighty  war  in  his  wisdom  disposed  ye  should  look  like." 

But  Clem,  usually  a  dutiful  son,  gave  her  no  notice. 

"  I  'm  a-reelin'  ye  out  cornsider'ble  line,  ennyhow,"  he 
continued.  "  I  '11  haul  ye  in,  though,  in  about  three  shakes 
o'  a  dead  sheep's  tail,  ef  ye  go  ter  tryin'  ter  purtend  ez  ye 
an'  Jake  Baintree  air  favored  guests  yander  at  Strobe's." 

For  the  sake  of  carrying  out  the  theory  on  which  he  had 
conducted  his  share  in  the  episode,  the  stranger,  feigning  to 
understand  no  more  than  the  surface  of  affairs  might  be 
token,  lifted  his  eyebrows  as  in  surprise,  and  shrugged  his 
shoulders  with  a  sophisticated  gesture  intimating  a  facile 
concession. 

"  I  meant  no  offense,  I  'm  sure  ;  I  should  n't  have  men 
tioned  it.  I  had  no  idea  the  Strobes  were  so  exclusive  !  " 
He  could  not  have  forborne  this  fling,  had  his  life  depended 
on  his  withholding  it.  "  But,  my  good  fellow,  don't  question 
me.  Ask  them  if  they  know  me.  They  will  tell  you,  and 
as  you  are  so  polite  you  will  certainly  believe  them." 

The  blacksmith  lowered  at  him,  the  red  light  of  the 
dwindling  forge  fire  on  his  broad  face  and  bare  throat  and 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOM  SEDGE   COVE.       311 

herculean  arm.  Only  a  portion  of  the  reply  was  intelligible 
to  him,  but  he  caught  the  covert  satire  it  conveyed,  and  the 
method  of  glib  enunciation,  with  quick,  flexible  motions  of 
the  eyelids  and  lips,  the  alert  turn  of  the  head,  the  gleam  of 
innuendo  in  the  eye  implying  bridled  retorts  that  chafed  at 
the  curb  of  fear,  all  repelled  him.  He  felt  a  sudden  ebbing 
away  of  confidence,  of  his  credulity.  He  began  illogically 
to  doubt  every  statement  the  stranger  had  made.  Even  the 
pick  in  his  hand  —  how  well  it  was  mended,  better  than 
new  ;  the  goodly  handicraft !  —  was  in  some  sort  a  blind,  a 
disguise,  a  subterfuge.  He  frowned  more  darkly  still  as  he 
sought  to  divine  the  rascality  that  must  lurk  behind  this  feint 
of  mining. 

Mrs.  Sanders,  still  sitting  on  the  keg,  yawned  with  a 
somnolent  vocal  refrain,  and  then  rose  stiffly  to  her  feet ; 
this  gesture  roused  little  Silas  from  a  state  of  galvanic  jerks 
and  nods  in  which  he  had  been  indulging,  his  white  eyeballs 
quite  eclipsed,  or  now  and  then  half  showing  unnaturally 
upturned.  He  began  to  rub  his  eyes  violently  as  he  shuf 
fled  up  from  his  seat  on  the  hub,  taking  scant  notice  of  the 
fact  that  where  there  is  a  hub,  spokes  are  of  the  vicinage  ; 
he  stumbled  over  one  or  two  of  these,  and  fell  in  sprawling 
fashion  almost  to  the  door.  "  Thar,  now  !  What  did  I  tell 
ye  !  "  Mrs.  Sanders  exclaimed  acridly.  And  yet  she  had 
not  told  him  anything. 

But  Silas,  who  had  voice  enough  for  much  loud  whooping, 
when  such  demonstrations  were  timely,  seemed  to  be  frugal 
in  volume  on  ordinary  occasions,  and  it  was  in  a  very  thin 
wheeze  that  he  made  haste  to  stipulate  that  he  "  war  n't  hurt 
nowhar,"  in  a  manner  that  implied  that  if  he  were  injured 
he  might  expect  to  have  his  bruises  multiplied  at  the  hands 
of  Mrs.  Sanders,  by  way  of  annotating  the  lesson  he  had  re 
ceived  to  take  more  care. 

Mrs.  Sanders  wore  a  disaffected  air.  All  her  interest  in 
the  events  of  the  evening  had  evaporated  in  the  prospect  of 
a  wrangle  among  the  young  men.  She  was  of  pacific  prin- 


312   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOM  SEDGE  COVE. 

ciples,  although  her  practices  were  not  such  as  always  tended 
to  preserve  the  peace  of  the  neighborhood,  since  she  arro 
gated  the  prerogative  of  censorship  in  many  particulars,  and 
earnestly  resented  the  right  of  reciprocation.  If  angry 
words  were  to  be  spoken,  she  liked  them  best  of  her  own 
framing,  and  zealously  and  fearlessly  applied  them.  But 
she  sincerely  deprecated  a  quarrel  that  was  not  of  her  own 
making,  and  her  second  yawn  as  candidly  denoted  that  she 
was  bored  as  her  first. 

"  Ef  ye  boys  air  a-goin'  ter  take  ter  quar'lin',  I  be  a-goin' 
home,"  she  remarked,  as  if  this  were  a  threat. 

There  was  no  direct  reply,  but  the  stranger  looked  at  her 
with  covert  alarm  and  shame  and  entreaty  contending  in  his 
eyes.  It  humiliated  him  to  be  so  definitely  conscious  of  the 
fact,  but  her  presence  here  was  a  protection  to  him  in  some 
sort,  and  he  leaned  even  upon  so  slight  a  thing  as  the  pre 
possession  in  his  favor  with  which  he  had  inspired  her.  She 
did  not  notice,  or  she  did  not  interpret,  the  protest  in  his 
eyes,  as  she  and  little  Silas  took  their  way  through  the 
broad  open  door,  and  ii  to  that  night  of  moonlight  and 
shadow.  Not  all  of  pensive  mystery,  not  all  of  melancholy 
magic,  were  these  ethereal  elements  of  contrast.  Some 
elvish  spirit  informed  a  phase  with  fine-spun  mirth,  that 
failed  not  though  none  was  there  to  see ;  a  tricksy  fantasy 
cut  the  leaves  into  grotesque  shapes  ;  with  a  delicate  twang 
ing  note  snapped  a  twig  to  test  the  acoustic  properties  of 
the  crystalline  silence  ;  furnished  the  skulking  fox  with  a 
nimble  and  crafty  double  to  pursue  him,  at  which  he 
glanced  over  his  shoulder  askance  ;  sprang  up  behind  Mrs. 
Sanders  and  little  Silas,  following  them  in  their  own  like 
ness  to  see  them  home  through  the  woods,  —  the  silhouette 
of  her  long,  gaunt  figure,  with  its  grotesque  sun-bonnet,  and 
Silas's  small  bifurcated  image,  with  a  slouched  hat  and  a 
big  head.  The  stranger  did  not  watch  them  out  of  sight, 
for  he  became  aware  the  next  instant  that  Jepson  had 
moved.  The  mountaineer  had  left  the  door,  and  was 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.   313 

slowly  advancing  upon  the  two  as  they  stood  at  the  anvil. 
His  face  was  quite  unmoved,  placid  and  dispassionate  in  its 
expression,  but  there  was  something  in  his  eye  which  the 
stranger  felt  it  might  be  well  to  note.  Jepson  paused,  put 
ting  one  hand  upon  the  anvil,  and  looking  full  and  search- 
ingly  into  the  intruder's  face  he  said,  — 

•"  What  mought  be  yer  name,  stranger  ?  " 

"  Rathburn,  —  Eugene  Rathburn." 

Both  mountaineers  pondered  upon  this  silently  for  a  time. 

"  Ye  'lowed  ye  war  a  doctor  ?  "  said  Jepson. 

"  Certainly  I  am,"  replied  Rathburn.  "  That 's  how  I 
happened  to  know  Baintree.  I  attended  him  when  he  was 
ill  in  prison." 

"Waal,"  —  Jepson  tapped  the  pickaxe  significantly, — 
"  ain't  this  a  powerful  cur'ous  bizness  fur  sech  ?  " 

•'  WThy," —  Rathburn  sought  to  laugh  as  he  began  to  ex 
plain,  —  "  I  'm  young  as  yet.  I  have  no  large  practice.  If 
I  should  find  ore  in  quantities  like  the  specimens  Baintree 
shows,"  —  despite  his  fears  his  eyes  glowed,  —  "I  should 
be  a  wealthy  man,  a  millionaire !  " 

He  looked  zestfully  at  the  stolidly  attentive  mountaineers. 
They  were  alike  incapable  of  sharing  or  understanding  an 
enthusiasm  such  as  this.  A  vague  mental  numbness,  a  sort 
of  paralysis,  began  to  steal  over  him,  as  he  gradually  real 
ized  how  impossible  it  was  to  explain  to  them  the  greed  for 
wealth,  to  move  them  to  the  love  of  riches.  Yet  he  returned 
once  more  to  the  attempt :  — 

"Why,  it  would  be  a  godsend  to  all  this  country.  It 
would  be  opened  out.  You  would  all  get  rich,  —  new  peo 
ple  in  droves  would  come  in.  You  would  all  get  rich  !  " 

The  two  mountaineers  looked  at  one  another. 

"  Thar  ain't  nobody  so  special  pore  hyar,  though  some  is 
better  off  'n  others,"  observed  Jepson  calmly. 

"  You  would  all  become  educated  and  live  high,  like  the 
k  valley  folks.'  " 

"  La ws-a  massy,  I  pray  ter  God  I  '11  never  be  like  no  val- 


314   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

ley  folks  !  "  protested  Clem.  "  Meanes'  blacksmith,  'cept- 
in'  you-uns,  I  ever  knowed  kem  from  Colbury.  Yes,  sir ; 
Grenup  war  his  name." 

"  If  you  could  strike  paying  ore  on  that  little  farm  of 
yours," — the  stranger,  turning  to  Jepson,  still  essayed  the 
subject,  —  "  you  might  sell  it  for  thousands  and  thousands 
of  dollars." 

"  I  could  n't  sell  it  at  all,"  said  Jepson  definitely.  "  My 
folks  is  all  buried  thar." 

Kathburn  looked  at  him  with  an  expression  which  pre 
cedes  a  burst  of  astonished  laughter,  caught  himself  in  time, 
and  said  no  more. 

"  So  this  air  what  hev  brung  ye  from  home  an'  f  rien's,  an' 
kith  an'  kin,  ter  hunt  the  mountings  along  of  a  murderer 
fur  a  silver  mine,"  said  Jepson  sternly. 

Rathburn  quailed  slightly,  but  sought  to  defend  himself. 
"  He  is  no  murderer.  The  jury  acquitted  him." 

"  D'  ye  happen  ter  know  whar  's  Sam'l  Keale,  the  man  he 
didn't  kill,  then?" 

"  Of  course  I  don't,"  said  Rathburn,  visibly  nettled.  "  I 
can  only  take  the  verdict  of  the  jury  on  such  questions.  I 
have  no  right  to  go  behind  that." 

"  Waal,  I  don't  need  twelve  men  ter  swear  my  brains 
inter  my  head,"  declared  Jepson.  "  Whar  's  Sam'l  Keale  ?  " 

The  words  rang  out  with  the  sonorous  intensity  of  his 
voice.  A  faint  echo  came  from  the  crag  above  the  forge. 
The  moonlight  stood  motionless  in  the  door.  Without,  the 
frosty  woods  glittered. 

"  Whar  's  Sam'l  Keale  ?  "  he  cried  again.  "  Look-a-hyar, 
stranger."  He  turned  abruptly,  and,  with  a  lowered  tone 
and  a  fiery  eye,  he  laid  his  hand  upon  Rathburn 's  arm,  who 
shrank  under  his  touch.  "  Ye  axed  me  whar 's  the  mouth 
o'  the  cave  whar  Baintree  hid  him.  The  critter  never  tole ! 
An'  /  fund  Sam'l  Keale's  coat.  An'  /  fund  Sam'l  Keale's 
hat,  in  a  gorge  they  never  sarched.  God  an'  the  mountings 
only  know  the  hidden  place,  an'  in  thar  mystery  they  will 
not  reveal  it." 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COTE.   315 

The  stranger  broke  forth  impetuously.  "  Then  you,  you 
can  tell  me  where  that  gorge  is,  and  we  can  search  the 
chasms !  I  feel  sure  that  the  silver  is  there,  where  the  man 
lost  his  life,  —  the  silver  "  — 

Jepson  flung  away  from  him  with  a  gesture  so  abrupt  that 
Rathburn  paused  suddenly. 

"  What  ails  ye,  man,"  cried  the  mountaineer,  "  to  talk  of 
silver  in  the  midst  o'  the  wharfores  o'  life  an'  death,  an' 
a-sarchin'  the  gorge  fur  gain  stiddier  jestice  ?  The  place 
air  nuthin'  ter  you-uns  but  the  hope  o'  gittin'  the  riches 
what  one  man  los'  his  life  fur,  an'  the  t'other  man  tuk  it. 
What  sorter  critter  be  ye  ?  '  His  eyes  were  blazing  with 
reproach.  4k  What  sorter  critter  be  ye  ?  " 

"  A  sane  one,  I  hope,"  retorted  the  stranger,  fairly  over 
taken.  tk  I  'm  not  intrusted  with  the  administration  of  the 
laws.  I  have  no  right  to  sit  in  judgment  on  the  justice  of 
Jake  Baintree's  acquittal.  And  it  won't  make  Samuel 
Keale  any  deader  than  he  is  —  if  he  is  dead  —  for  me  to 
find  silver  where  he  looked  for  it." 

u  Ye  air  free  fur  me  ter  find  it,"  said  Jepson,  '•  but  some 
time  ye  '11  'low  the  day  ye  los'  yer  soul  in  the  gorge,  an'  tuk 
silver  fur  its  price,  war  a  powerful  dark  day,  —  the  fore 
runner  o'  darker  ones,  an'  eternal  gloom." 

*•  I  'm  not  going  to  lose  my  soul  there !  "  cried  Rathburn. 
"  I  am  going  to  take  very  excellent  care  of  my  soul.  I  am 
going  to  strike  it  rich  and  be  mighty  good.  Nothing  in  this 
world  combines  like  goodness  and  prosperity,  —  natural 
affinities.  All  the  good  people  are  prosperous,  and  that  is 
why  they  are  so  good.  Adversity  sours  on  the  stomach, 
and  deranges  the  nervous  system,  and  produces  crime." 

Jepson's  eyes  rested  slightingly  upon  him. 

"Ye  kin  persevere,  fur  I  ain't  of  a  mind  ter  bender." 

Rathburn  looked  wistfully  at  him ;  so  flinchingly  was  he 
sensible  of  this  arrogance  of  permission,  so  did  he  yearn  to 
flout  and  retort.  Much  as  he  had  dared,  he  hardly  dared 
this. 


316   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOM  SEDGE  COVE. 

"  I  see  no  harm  in  sech  ez  ye  hev  said  o'  yer  goin's  on, 
'ceptin'  it  air  o'  the  pride  an'  the  willfulness  o'  the  devil ; 
an'  ef  he  hev  a  mind  ter  mark  ye  fur  his  own,  I  dunno  ez 
I  feel  called  on  in  ennywise  ter  stay  his  hand.  But  thar 
may  be  deceitfulness  in  yer  words,  fur  I  know  ye  war 
warned  aforehand  by  a  woman." 

Rathburn  palpably  started ;  his  eyes  distended  'as  he 
gazed  at  his  self-constituted  judge.  How  omniscient  the 
masterful  mountaineer  seemed ! 

Jepson  lingered,  he  hardly  knew  why.  on  this  phase,  de 
spite  the  pain  with  which  it  was  fraught.  "  Leastwise  a 
gal,"  he  continued,  elaborately  particularizing.  "  She 
warned  ye.  An'  ye  hev  hed  time  ter  collogue  with  Jake 
Baintree,  —  a  skeery  devil ;  I  s'pose  he  war  'fraid  ter  kem, 
—  an'  make  up  lies  ter  tell  when  questioned.  But  ye  know 
now  ez  ye  air  watched.  Ef  ye  falter  from  the  straight  line, 
it  '11  go  hard  with  ye.  Take  heed  ter  yer  feet,  fur  ye  will 
find  thar  air  men  in  Brumsaidge  ez  will  medjure  each 
pace." 

He  terminated  the  interview  abruptly,  making  no  sign  of 
conclusion  or  farewell,  moving  with  his  long,  deliberate, 
supple  stride  toward  the  door  and  out  along  the  moonlit  road. 

Clem  Sanders  lingered.  He  felt  that  he  would  like  to 
close  his  doors  behind  the  audacity  that,  unlearned  in  the 
art,  essayed  to  work  at  his  forge,  and  to  protect  the  little 
tongs  and  swage  and  hammer  —  for  each  of  which,  in  the 
moment  of  its  danger,  he  felt  an  almost  paternal  solici 
tude  —  from  all  non-professional  intermeddling.  He  was 
placing  them  in  their  wonted  order,  according  to  his  habit, 
when  he  suddenly  noticed  that  the  stranger  had  not  moved. 
Rathburn  was  still  standing,  gazing  steadfastly  after  Jep- 
son's  his  whole  attitude  informed  with  resentment  and  agi 
tation  and  the  thirst  for  revenge,  and  his  face  bespeaking 
the  passion  and  turmoil  of  his  heart. 

He  turned  with  a  quick  gesture,  as  he  became  conscious 
that  the  blacksmith's  eyes  were  upon  him. 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOVSEDGE   COVE.       317 

"  What 's  that  man's  name  ?  "  he  demanded. 

Clem  Sanders  was  aware  that  in  some  sort  he  had  pro 
duced  a  less  forceful  impression  than  his  ally  ;  that  his  re 
cent  anger  and  taunts  were  easily  overlooked,  and  his  prob 
lematic  opinions  were  held  as  of  scant  consequence.  A 
trifle  of  surliness  was  engendered  by  the  perception  that  he 
was  thus  ignored,  and  he  mumbled  rather  than  pronounced 
his  coadjutor's  name. 

"Well,  what's  the  reason  he  takes  so  much  on  himself, 
damn  him !  "  cried  Rathburn  recklessly. 

"  Sorter  robustious,"  explained  Jepson's  facile  associate. 

"  Sorter  robustious  !  Good  Lord  !  Sets  me  free,  and 
conditions  me,  as  if —  Don't  anybody  make  any  head 
against  him  ?  " 

"  'T  ain't  wuth  while  ter  try.  Folks  sorter  like  Teck, 
an'  sorter  don't.  But  they  f oiler  arter  him.  An',"  with  a 
recurrent  desire  to  do  justice,  "  thar  's  one  thing  ez  goes  a 
long  way  with  most  folks  :  he  's  mighty  religious." 

"  Religious  !  Oh,  Lord  !  "  exclaimed  Rathburn  in  a  fer 
vor  of  amazement. 

Clem  began  to  enjoy  the  role  of  biographer,  since  so 
fevered  an  interest  hung  on  his  words. 

"  A  plumb  survigrous  saint,  he  is.  He  hev  got  a  mighty 
fine  voice  fur  quirin'.  When  he  sings,  it  sounds  some  like 
the  mountings  hed  bruk  out  a-psalmin'." 

"  How  many  men  did  he  have  at  your  barn  to-night  ?  " 

Clem  Sanders  gave  him  a  long  stare.  "  Ye  wanter  know 
too  much.  Ef  I  war  a  smart  man,  I  'd  stop  hyar  an'  forge 
me  an'  you-uns  a  chain  ter  tie  up  these  hyar  tongues  o' 
ourn.  I  hev  done  talked  too  much  a'ready.  Ef  I  hed  n't, 
ye  'd  be  a-danglin'  powerful  limp  ter  one  o'  them  trees," 
—  nodding  his  head  toward  the  great  bare  limbs,  —  "  stone 
dead,  an'  the  buzzards  would  be  hevin'  a  high  time  'mongst 
yer  bones  by  ter-morrer." 

It  was  not  a  pleasant  picture  under  the  blacksmith's  crude 
touch,  but  its  power  was  heightened  by  a  sense  of  its  abso- 


318   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

lute  veracity,  and  the  very  close  propinquity  it  had  to  being 
an  event  instead  of  a  possibility.  Rathburn  shuddered  a 
little. 

"  It  was  you  who  let  the  secret  slip,  then,"  he  said,  his 
face  flushing  slightly.  A  hot,  infrequent  moisture  had  risen 
suddenly  to  his  eyes.  "  That  lovely,  noble  girl !  "  he  fal 
tered. 

Sanders  lost  the  final  words  in  his  eagerness  to  impress 
his  theory  of  the  clemency  extended  to  the  intruder,  or  it 
might  have  been  tempered. 

"  Ye  see,  stranger,  I  hev  got  a  tongue  ez  'minds  me  o'  a 
cow  a-swimmin'.  Ter  see  the  critter  ker-wallop  round  in 
the  water  ye  'd  think  't  war  n't  goin'  nowhar  in  'special,  an' 
'fore  ye  know  it  the  beastis  air  out'n  ear-shot.  An'  Teck 
air  a  sorter  —  I-dunno-what  —  I  tell  all  I  know  when  he 
air  around ;  an'  ef  ye  '11  b'lieve  me,  he  got  it  outer  me  ez 
we-uns  war  a-kemin'  down  hyar,  ez  I  hed  let  out  the  secret 
ter  Marcelly  Strobe,  an'  she  war  agin  hangin'.  I  dunno 
how  he  guessed  't  war  her  ez  warned  ye,  —  jes'  kase  nobody 
else  knowed  it.  But  that 's  how  kem  ye  ain't  dead  now,  — 
kase  Marcelly  war  agin  it." 

"  Is  he  in  love  with  her  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  assented  Clem,  "  but,"  with  decision,  "  he  air 
barkin'  up  the  wrong  tree.  Ye  kin  put  that  in  yer  pipe  an' 
smoke  it." 

Rathburn  was  silent  for  a  few  moments,  while  Clem  clat- 
teringly  completed  the  orderly  arrangement  of  the  tools 
about  the  forge.  Then  they  both  stood  together  in  the 
road,  after  the  great  barn-like  doors  were  closed. 

The  moon  hung  near  the  meridian  ;  the  shadows  had 
dwindled.  There  were  wider  avenues  of  frosty  brilliance 
in  the  dense  woods  ;  the  full  splendor  of  the  night  was 
climaxing.  The  stars  were  few,  however,  and  very  faint ; 
the  wide  spaces  of  the  indefinitely  blue  sky  were  a  desert, 
save  here  and  there  a  vague  scintillation  that  one  might 
hardly  distinguish  as  sidereal  glinting  or  some  elusive  twin- 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       319 

kle  of  frost  in  the  air.  Midnight,  doubtless,  and  a  cock  was 
crowing.  A  muffled  resonance  the  sound  had,  intimating 
that  the  fowl  was  housed  in  lieu  of  camping  out  among  the 
althea  bushes,  —  in  imminent  danger  of  fox  and  mink,  — 
according  to  the  recent  summertide  wont  of  the  mountain 
poultry.  A  faint  blare  of  a  horn  from  the  dense  coverts  of 
the  distance,  and  an  elfin  shout  of  hilarity,  barely  discerni 
ble,  betokened  a  coon-hunt  on  some  far-away  mountain. 
Then  there  fell  again  the  deep  silence  of  the  windless  night. 
When  it  was  suddenly  broken  by  a  sharp  sound,  the  inter 
ruption  smote  with  a  jar  the  senses,  lulled  and  quiescent  in 
the  muteness  of  the  resting  nature.  As  Rathburn  lifted 
his  head,  he  discriminated  the  tones  of  raucous  disputatious 
voices  rising  vehemently,  and  anon  sinking  down.  There 
was  an  unconscious  inquiry,  perchance,  in  his  eyes  as  he 
turned  them  upon  Clem  Sanders,  who  replied  with  a  gut 
tural  chuckle,  "  Them  boys  at  the  barn  a-quar'lin'  with 
Teck." 

A  renewed  anxiety  beset  Rathburn. 

'•  You  reckon  they  won't  agree  with  him  ?  " 

"  They  never  do,  sca'cely.  Teck  's  all  one  ter  hisse'f. 
But  they  don't  do  nuthin'  agin  his  say-so.  Dunno  why,  but 
they  don't.  He  be  so  durned  robustious." 

The  blacksmith  presently  quickened  his  pace.  Then  with 
a  drawling  "  Good-by  "  he  began  to  run  lightly  along  the 
hard,  whitened  road,  feeling  an  accession  of  interest  in 
what  might  be  going  forward  at  the  barn,  his  curiosity  con 
cerning  his  companion  flagging  in  this  new  prospect  of  ex 
citement.  His  footfalls  sounded,  regular  and  rhythmic  as 
machinery,  long  after  he  had  disappeared  amongst  the  white 
frosted  wands  of  the  bare  brambles  and  the  silver-tipped 
leaves  of  the  luxuriant  laurel. 

Rathburn,  thus  summarily  deserted,  stood  still  for  a 
moment,  then  took  his  way  alone.  He  had  a  certain  pride 
in  the  fact  that  even  under  these  circumstances  he  could 
keep  his  steps  deliberate  and  even.  He  scrutinized  his  gait 


320        THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOM  SEDGE   COVE. 

to  assure  himself  on  this  point.  Albeit  policy  had  prompted 
his  course  and  the  event  had  so  far  justified  its  wisdom,  he 
was  well  aware  of  the  abundant  resources  of  courage  that 
had  made  it  possible.  Still  he  listened  with  sharpened 
sense,  with  every  nerve  tense,  with  an  insidious  chill  stealing 
upon  him,  and  he  felt  a  rage  of  humiliation  that  he  should 
be  subjected  to  an  anguish  of  fear  like  this,  which  but  for 
its  physical  testimony  he  would  not  acknowledge  to  himself. 
If  the  voices  rose  or  fell,  he  heard  them  only  in  the  midst 
of  the  beat  of  his  own  footsteps,  for  he  would  not  pause. 
Sometimes  he  fancied  that  another  tramp  was  on  the  air, 
other  footfalls  — hasty,  deranged,  pursuing  footfalls  —  were 
hard  upon  his  track.  He  walked  on  deliberately,  however 
that  curious  icy  thrill  crept  along  his  nerves,  and  now  de 
sisted,  and  now  renewed  its  chilling  quiver. 

He  had  not  hitherto,  in  his  comings  and  goings,  been  in 
sensible  of  the  majesty  of  these  dark  ranges,  the  pervasive 
effects  of  awe  and  silence  of  this  nocturnal  scene,  —  never 
so  august,  never  so  austere,  as  on  this  night  of  mingled 
lustre  and  gloom  ;  but  now  a  sort  of  repulsion  for  the  in 
animate  mountain  forms  possessed  him.  He  experienced 
that  strong  hatred  of  place,  a  thousand  times  more  potent 
than  the  vaunted  local  attachments.  He  would  fain  have 
never  seen  these  grim  encircling  heights ;  if  he  might, 
he  would  have  swept  them  away  into  vague  annihilation. 
There  rose  in  his  heart  a  sentiment,  too,  of  reproach  to  the 
insensate  scene,  grown  so  familiar ;  and  then  he  saw  it, 
purple  or  duskily  brown,  with  heavy  shadows  lined  about 
with  mystic  strokes  of  luminous  white  and  with  that  pure 
pale  sky  above,  —  saw  it  all  through  a  shimmer,  for  the  hot 
tears  had  risen  to  his  eyes,  smitten  out  by  his  helpless  rage. 
This  shabby  ordeal,  as  he  felt  it,  —  how  little  he  had  de 
served  it !  Even  these  ignorant  savages  could  find  no  flaw 
in  aught  that  he  had  done,  albeit  they  had  thirsted  for  his 
blood.  They  were  bereft  of  pretext  by  the  integrity  of  his 
intentions.  Such  interest,  such  sense  of  adventure,  as  the 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       321 

secret  nocturnal  expeditions  to  the  forge  had  possessed  had 
given  way  utterly  before  this  exigent  necessity  to  account 
for  his  freak.  He  began  to  appreciate  more  definitely  than 
before  the  danger  that  had  waited  upon  it.  And  yet,  he 
thought,  what  sane  being  would  not  have  ventured  upon  a 
trifle  of  mystery  rather  than  alienate  a  man  who  held  a 
secret  like  Jake  Baintree's,  now  half  revealed,  and  again 
with  a  miserly  clutch  concealed  ?  Always  Baintree's  clumsy 
subterfuges  grew  clumsier  ;  always  his  reticent,  suspicious 
nature  was  relaxing  more  and  more.  It  seemed  only  a 
little  waiting  yet,  and  still  a  little  time.  And  if  these  clods 
of  mountaineers  could  not  comprehend  the  value  of  even 
the  remote  possibility  of  veins  of  ore  commensurate  in  rich 
ness  with  the  specimen  in  Baintree's  possession,  Eugene 
Rathburn  congratulated  himself  that  he  could,  and  felt 
anew  that  he  stood  ready  to  risk  much  —  very  much  of 
bodily  harm  and  mental  indignity  and  anguish  of  fright  — 
for  the  bare  hope  to  live  to  possess  the  treasure.  With 
this,  he  felt  he  was  soothsayer  enough  to  read  his  future, 
—  the  long  lapse  of  years  filled  with  the  satisfied  cravings 
his  heart  held  dear  ;  without  it,  he  could  scarce  foresee  the 
dull  to-morrow  that  should  follow  to-day,  and  of  which 
naught  save  sequence  might  be  predicted,  —  the  empty, 
empty  time  !  He  had  a  sudden  spasm  of  an  unnamed  affec 
tion,  very  well  defined,  however,  the  reverse  of  nostalgia,  as 
there  arose  the  poignant  recollection  of  his  office  in  Glas- 
ton,  where  he  sat  idle  much  of  the  time,  in  company  with 
a  fly,  that  droned  on  the  window-pane,  and  whence  he  was 
summoned  at  inconceivably  long  intervals  to  attend  some 
charity  patient.  The  reward  of  this  exertion  was  a  local 
reputation  of  having  intentionally  assisted  the  demise  of 
certain  well-known  indigent  worthies  ;  the  popular,  logical 
surmise  concerning  his  motive  for  the  commission  of  the 
deed  being  that  he  thought  "  pore  folks  "  cumberers  of  the 
ground.  8cience,  although  furnishing  many  rich  and  varied 
instances  of  transformation,  fails  to  give  data  concerning 


322   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

the  gradual  development  of  the  professional  man, — artist. 
author,  physician,  lawyer,  —  from  the  waiting,  eager  grub  ; 
what  causes  assist  at  the  metamorphosis,  what  influences 
favor  it,  what  casualties  retard  it,  what  circumstances  pre 
clude  it  utterly.  Time  seems  no  factor,  and  the  poor  worm, 
with  no  instinct  of  forecast,  must  writhe  indefinitely,  not 
knowing  whether  his  sinuous  carcass  contains  the  possibil 
ities  of  splendid  wings,  or  merely  continued  wriggles.  Rath- 
burn  had  turned  his  eyes  far  afield  ;  he  yearned  for  the 
great  cities  that  he  had  known  as  a  medical  student,  and 
their  ampler  opportunities.  He  thought  that  he  longed  for 
wealth  as  a  stepping-stone  to  the  worthy  practice  of  his 
chosen  profession,  rather  than  his  profession  as  a  stepping- 
stone  to  wealth.  He  was  eager  to  forsake  this  state  of 
elaborately  equipped  idleness,  this  farce  of  postulance,  this 
endless  waiting,  with  no  certain  result  in  view.  But  con 
sciously  or  unconsciously,  most  of  all  he  thirsted  for  riches ; 
it  fired  his  blood  to  think  of  the  avaricious  grasp  of  the 
great  rocky  gorges.  He  dreamed  by  day  as  well  as  by 
night ;  and  sometimes,  so  little  was  there  that  he  would  not 
risk,  that  he  would  not  do  for  his  cherished  hope,  he 
dreamed  that  it  might  be  well  to  lay  his  strong  hands  on 
Jake  Baintree's  neck  —  that  had  escaped  such  catastrophe 
so  closely  —  and  tighten  their  grasp,  till  the  secret  that  the 
foolish,  suspicious,  obstructive,  ignorant  marplot  so  jealously 
guarded  should  be  choked  out  or  remain  with  him,  hopeless, 
inert,  and  indeed  incapable  of  telling  his  tale  if  he  would. 
But  as  yet  Rathburn  dreamed  this  chiefly  by  night. 


XVIII. 

HE  had  left  the  road  mechanically  where  it  was  inter 
sected  by  the  turn-row  that  led  through  Eli  Strobe's  corn 
field.  All  frosted  and  melancholy  and  spectral  were  the 
gaunt  stalks  in  the  moonlight.  He  could  see  the  sky  and 
the  summit  of  a  distant  mountain  through  the  meshes  that 
the  intertwisted  bare  boughs  of  the  orchard  wrought  against 
the  horizon.  But  the  house  on  the  further  side  of  the  fruit 
trees  was  still  invisible,  embowered  amongst  the  red  and 
yellow  sumach  and  dogwood  foliage,  that  seemed  to  find  a 
prolongation  of  life  in  its  genial  vicinage.  He  stopped 
twice,  peering  eagerly  into  its  bosky  surroundings  ;  he  was 
surprised  to  gauge  the  disappointment  he  experienced  that 
there  was  no  glimmer  of  light.  It  seemed  that  no  one  had 
awaited  his  return  from  the  forge ;  it  had  been  accounted, 
perhaps,  hardly  worth  the  while,  since  none  knew  that  dan 
ger  menaced  him  there,  none  except  Marcella.  He  would 
go  back,  then,  to  his  lurking  coadjutor,  hidden  in  the  moun 
tains.  He  could  come  again,  and  then  he  could  thank  her 
once  more  ;  he  could  never  thank  her  enough.  As  he 
turned,  his  heart  leaped  ;  a  tiny  red  gleam  came  through 
the  leaves,  and  as  he  took  his  way  back  toward  the  gate 
with  a  quick  step  he  saw  in  the  moonlight  a  slight  figure, 
that  he  had  learned  to  know,  coming  down  from  the  porch 
toward  it. 

Marcella  distinguished  him  in  the  shadows  as  readily. 
She  hesitated  for  a  moment,  but  by  the  time  he  had  reached 
the  gate  she  had  turned  back,  and  she  stood  upon  the  porch 
as  he  came  up  the  steps.  The  light  streamed  out  from  the 
open  door,  and  fell  upon  his  face.  She  saw  his  eyes,  at 


324   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

once  eager  and  soft  and  almost  suffused,  shining  upon  her 
as  he  held  out  his  hand  to  her. 

She  held  out  her  own,  but  it  was  not  a  responsive  gesture. 

"  Gimme  that  thar  pick,"  she  remarked  stiffly.  "  I  '11 
set  it  in  the  shed-room.  We-uns  don't  tote  tools  in  the 
house." 

Her  staid  manner  seemed  only  an  added  charm  in  his 
eyes,  whose  glance  she  would  not  meet  as  she  took  the  im 
plement  in  question  and  bore  it  away.  For  he  had  only 
sought  to  thus  silently  reiterate  his  thanks,  since  Mrs. 
Strobe  and  the  master  of  the  house  were  both  summoned 
to  the  door  by  Marcella's  words. 

"  Kem  in,  stranger !  "  cried  Mrs.  Strobe.  "  Ye  war  a 
power  o'  time  gittin'  yer  pick  mended.  Take  a  cheer  by 
the  ha'th.  A  body  would  'low  'twar  a  powerful  tejious 
business,  'cordin'  ter  the  time  Marcelly  hev  been  keepin'  a 
lookout.  Ef  she  hev  been  traipsin'  ter  the  gate  wunst  ter 
look  ter  see  ef  ye  war  a-kemin'  back,  she  hev  been  fower 
hunderd  an'  ninety-nine  times.  I  reckon,  ef  the  truth  war 
knowed,  she  war  a-hopin'  ye  'd  bring  Clem  Sanders  back 
with  ye.  Clem  's  a  mighty  favorite  'mongst  the  gals." 

The  fire  was  burning  blithely  on  the  hearth,  with  great 
beds  of  ashes  about  it  to  attest  the  late  hour  and  the  waste 
throughout  the  day.  The  room  intimated  a  presentiment 
of  winter,  although  the  batten  shutters  were  unclosed  and 
the  door  stood  open.  Bunches  of  herbs,  that  but  lately 
waved  in  the  summer's  wind,  were  already  dried  and  dan 
gling  from  the  rafters.  Seeds  had  been  gathered,  and  fruit 
dried,  and  red  peppers  strung,  and  gourds  cut ;  and  the 
tokens  of  this  industry,  marking  the  passing  of  the  season, 
the  homely  harvests  of  the  primitive  housewife,  all  had 
place  in  the  variegated  pendants  and  festoons  that  swung 
above  their  heads.  There  was  no  work  afoot  at  this  time 
of  the  night.  Isabel  sat  idle  on  an  inverted  noggin,  seem 
ing  but  just  aroused  from  slumber.  Mrs.  Strobe  perched 
on  her  chair,  with  her  feet  on  its  rungs  and  her  hands 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOM SF DC 'E   COVE.       325 

clasped  in  her  lap,  and  fixed  her  shrewd  small  eyes  on  her 
visitor.  It  was  never  too  late  to  smoke,  and  Eli  Strobe  was 
filling  his  pipe  with  a  dried  tobacco-leaf,  which  he  crumbled 
for  the  purpose.  Rathburn  drew  his  chair  aside,  that  he 
might  still  see  Marcella,  who  had  sunk  down  on  a  low  bench 
by  the  chimney-corner ;  and  as  he  responded  to  his  host's 
invitation  to  smoke  he  glanced  at  her,  the  glow  of  the  coal 
with  which  he  kindled  his  pipe  red  on  his  face  and  in  his 
eyes  as  her  father  spoke. 

"  Marcelly  seemed  ter  sense  ez  ef  suthin'  motight  be  goin' 
for'ard  at  the  forge,  —  some  sort'n  row,  or  suthin',"  he  said. 
"  Seemed  ter  listen  ez  skeered  an'  white  !  An'  fower  or 
five  times  she  wanted  ter  walk  down  ter  the  e-end  o'  the 
turn-row  ter  listen  better."  He  puffed  his  pipe  in  silence 
for  a  moment.  "  But  I  told  her  ez  't  war  n't  wuth  while  ter 
be  oneasy.  This  hyar  kentry,  stranger,"  he  continued  im 
pressively,  "  air  the  peaceablest  c'munity  on  the  face  o'  the 
livin'  yearth.  Never  hev  no  c'motions  hyar,  —  naw,  sir  ; 
no  fights  nor  "  —  He  brought  up  short,  recollecting  his  own 
reduced  state  and  his  bandaged  head,  which  were  hardly 
the  kind  of  corroborative  instances  his  statement  needed. 
"  Thout,"  he  qualified,  "  'thout  it  air  'lection  time,  an'  sech 
ez  that.  Ye  don't  hear  o'  no  'stnrbances  in  Brumsaidge, 
now,  do  ye?  "  He  turned  to  Rathburn  his  haggard  face, 
full  of  the  pride  of  his  charge,  and  reiterated,  "  Now,  do 

ye?" 

Rathburn  had  tilted  his  chair  back  slightly  on  its  hind 
legs  ;  he  slipped  the  tips  of  his  fingers  in  his  trousers  pock 
ets  ;  his  pipe  was  redly  aglow,  and  the  firelight  flickered 
over  his  face  with  its  long  yellow  mustache  and  his  close- 
clipped  hair,  for  he  did  not  wear  his  hat  in  the  house  as  Eli 
Strobe  did. 

"  You  've  been  cooped  up  a  good  while,  Mr.  Strobe.  Let 
me  see,  —  how  long  has  it  been  since  I  came  over  here  and 
prescribed  for  you  ?  Well,  no  matter ;  you  did  n't  know 
about  that,  when  you  were  first  ill.  Broomsedge  Cove  has 


326   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

been  having  it  pretty  much  its  own  way  ever  since  then, 
with  the  constable  laid  up." 

Strobe  looked  a  trifle  crestfallen.  Marcella,  with  a  sud 
den  anxious  impatience  of  manner,  rose  and  passed  to  the 
other  side  of  the  room  and  mechanically  closed  the  batten 
shutter,  then  purposelessly  opened  it  again.  Rathburn  did 
not  follow  her  with  his  eyes.  They  were  still  fixed  moodily 
on  the  fire.  When  she  seated  herself  again,  she  looked  at  her 
father  with  a  clearing  brow.  A  slow  satisfaction,  even  tri 
umph,  was  creeping  across  Eli  Strobe's  face.  "  They  need 
me  ter  keep  'em  straight,"  he  observed.  "  Some  powerful 
fractious  boys  in  Brumsaidge  Cove,"  he  declared,  with  a 
slow,  sidelong,  convincing  glance  at  Rathburn. 

"  I  should  think  so,  indeed,"  Rathburn  affirmed,  with  an 
accession  of  significant  emphasis.  He  hesitated  a  moment, 
then  went  on.  "  I  fell  in  to-night  with  the  ringleader  of  a 
gang  of  lynchers,  and  if  I  had  n't  been  warned  beforehand 
and  known  just  how  to  talk  to  him  I  should  n't  have  got  off 
with  my  life."  He  once  more  cast  a  swift  glance  at  Mar- 
cella,  charged  with  much  that  he  would  fain  have  said  ;  but 
her  eyes  were  downcast,  the  long  lashes  almost  touching  the 
rare  rose  a-bloom  in  her  cheeks. 

Eli  Strobe  turned  his  bovine  stare  of  slowly  kindling  ex 
citement  upon  the  speaker  ;  his  pipe-stem  was  quivering  in 
his  hand ;  his  lips  had  parted,  as  if  an  ejaculation  were 
trembling  upon  them,  but  the  alert  maternal  comments  fore 
stalled  him  :  — 

"  Dell-law  !  the  crazy  buzzards  !  What  hed  ye  been 
a-doin'  of,  though,  ter  hev  sech  a  pursuit  ez  that  take  arter 
ye  ? "  Mrs.  Strobe  fixed  an  investigating  eye  upon  the 
stranger  which  intimated  a  cautious  reserve  of  judgment. 

"  I  'd  like  for  you  to  guess ;  but  you  never  could,"  said 
Rathburn. 

"  It  air  in  rank  vi'lation  o'  the  law,  no  matter  what  he 
done  nor  what  he  done  it  fur,"  Eli  Strobe  declared  impres 
sively.  Then  he  tremulously  replaced  his  pipe  in  his  mouth. 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       327 

"  You  see,"  said  Rathburn,  leaning  forward  and  tapping 
the  burly  mountaineer  on  the  knee,  looking  up  at  him  the 
while  with  eyes  that  grew  fiery  revealing  the  angry,  smarting 
wounds  to  his  pride,  "  I  admit  I  was  fool  enough  to  agree 
to  Jake  Baintree's  idiocy  in  keeping  the  matter  secret.  I 
have  been  trying  to  strike  silver  that  he  found  here  a  few 
years  ago,  and  when  we  broke  our  tools  I  undertook  to  mend 
and  sharpen  them  at  the  forge,  being  a  sort  of  Jack-of-all- 
trades  ;  and  I  did  it  at  night  and  in  secret  to  humor  him. 
I  wanted  to  keep  him  as  communicative  as  I  could,  because 
the  fool  puts  me  off  and  deceives  me  from  day  to  day  about 
the  place,  —  the  Lord  knows  why."  He  paused.  "  I  'd 
like  to  throttle  him,  —  I  'd  like  to  break  his  neck,"  he  said, 
as  his  preoccupied  gaze  dwelt  on  the  fire  for  a  moment. 
Then  flinging  himself  back  in  his  chair  in  his  former  atti 
tude,  and  slipping  his  hands  into  his  pockets  he  continued, 
"  That 's  what  like  to  have  happened  to  me,  though,  I  tell 
you.  It  was  a  mighty  close  call.  I  got  off  by  the  skin  of 
my  teeth." 

"  Whar  's  Jake,  then  ?  "  Eli  Strobe  turned  his  bandaged 
head  actively  in  -search  of  the  supposed  sharer  of  Rath- 
burn's  peril,  as  if  thinking  him  near  at  hand.  "  Some  o* 
them  boys  air  been  keen  ter  see  Jake  stretch  hemp  ever 
sence  the  jury  acquitted  him,  — miser'ble,  senseless  critters  ; 
got  no  mo'  'spect  fur  the  law  'n  so  many  painters  an'  sech. 
Whar  's  Jake  ?  They  did  n't  ketch  Jake,  did  they  ?  "  He 
rose  stumblingly  to  his  feet. 

Rathburn  laughed ;  the  gleam  of  his  white  teeth,  show 
ing  under  his  yellow  mustache,  was  capable  of  adding  a 
geniality  to  his  ordinary  expression,  but  now  it  gave  only 
a  certain  fierceness  to  his  face,  so  little  mirth  did  it  imply. 

"  No,  you  may  bet  your  immortal  soul  they  did  n't.  By 
this  time  he  's  mighty  safe  ;  no  more  to  be  found,  I  '11 
warrant,  than  Samuel  Keale,  —  ain't  that  his  name  ?  I 
reasoned  with  Baintree.  I  begged  him  to  come  boldly  out 
with  me  ;  we  could  afford  to  stand  the  scrutiny  of  the  vigi- 


328       THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE. 

lantes  ;  but  he  would  n't.  He  's  afraid  of  your  good,  law- 
abiding  population  of  Broomsedge,  Mr.  Strobe."  He  clasped 
his  hands  behind  his  head  and  tilted  himself  back  in  his 
chair,  as  his  eyes  retrospectively  rested  on  the  coals.  "  Jake 
threw  down  his  pickaxe  and  started  the  instant  we  got  a 
word  of  warning." 

"Waal,  ye  war  powerful  lucky.  Ginerally,  in  Brtim- 
saidge,  the  lynchers  an'  sech  keep  too  close  a  mouth  fur 
enny  words  o'  warnin'  ter  git  a-goin',''  said  Eli  Strobe,  who, 
however  he  might  congratulate  himself  in  the  interests  of 
law  and  humanity  upon  the  result,  felt  a  certain  deprecation 
of  the  futility  of  the  enterprise  as  a  work  of  art,  as  it  were. 
"  I  clunno  how  in  this  worl'  sech  ez  a  word  o'  warnin'  could 
hev  kcm  ter  ye." 

u  It  may  have  come  through  a  woman,  but  it  seemed  to 
me  through  an  angel  of  mercy  !  "  the  young  man  declared, 
his  glowing  brown  eyes  swiftly  seeking  Marcella's  flushed 
and  grave  and  half-averted  face. 

Mrs.  Strobe,  unnoting  the  demonstration,  gave  a  sharp 
little  satiric  laugh,  more  like  the  fleering  squawk  of  a  jay 
bird  than  any  merely  human  flout. 

"  Dell-law,  stranger,  don't  ye  b'lieve  the  haffen  o'  that. 
'T  war  n't  no  n'angel  o'  mercy  !  I  ain't  'quainted  with  n'an- 
gels  much  myself,  but  I  know  enough  'bout  'em  ter  make 
mighty  sure  ez  n'angels  don't  go  lopin'  'round  the  Big  Smoky 
seem'  arter  the  welfare  o'  two  sech  good-lookin'  young  men 
ez  ye  an'  Jake  Baintree.  It  don't  need  no  wisdom  from 
above  ter  know  it  air  mighty  safe  ter  trest  ye  ter  some 
young  yearthly  woman,  'thout  interruptin'  enny  n'angel  in  her 
reg'lar  business  o'  quirin'  'roun'  the  throne  o'  grace.  Don't 
ye  never  make  no  sech  mistake  ez  that."  And  once  more 
it  might  be  doubted  whether  it  were  the  satiric  old  woman 
or  some  gay  cynic  of  a  bird  that  gave  a  short  shriek  of 
laughter. 

As  a  general  rule,  Rathburn  cared  little  what  these  hum 
ble,  illiterate  mountaineers  said  or  how  they  esteemed  him. 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.      329 

But  despite  his  appreciation  of  its  infinitesimal  consequence 
he  was  at  once  surprised,  and  a  trifle  offended  by  the  ridi 
cule.  He  had  turned  to  retort,  when  he  saw  Marcella's  face 
with  the  reflection  of  his  own  sentiment  upon  it.  Those 
crystal-clear  eyes  of  hers  were  widely  opened  ;  he  noted 
the  upward  sweep  of  the  thick,  fine  lashes  ;  and  why,  since 
her  flush  was  so  infrequent,  why  did  it  wear  that  exquisite 
hue,  deepening  in  the  cheek,  and  merging  by  indistinguish 
able  degrees,  like  the  fine  sorceries  of  sunset,  into  the  warm 
whiteness  of  her  brow,  and  chin,  and  throat  ?  Her  lips  were 
more  deeply  red  still,  —  did  ever  a  sculptor  chisel  a  mouth 
like  that,  where  all  sweet  graces  curved  sedately  ?  It  trem 
bled  slightly,  and  the  sight  of  the  quiver  roused  in  him  a  new 
lease  of  gratitude  for  her  timely  word ;  even  now  he  could 
not  measure  the  risk  she  ran  in  saying  it.  He  would  not  be 
laughed  from  his  loyalty  to  the  messenger  who  had  brought 
him  safety,  even' rescued  his  life,  perhaps. 

"  May  have  been  a  woman,"  he  admitted  ;  she  looked 
like  an  angel." 

"A  triflin'  chit,  I'll  be  bound,"  Mrs.  Strobe  declared. 
"  Hain't  she  got  no  better  work  ter  do  'n  ter  keep  her  eye 
on  the  young  men,  an'  her  ear  open  ter  all  the  talk  'bout'n 
em?" 

She  spoke  all  unaware  that  the  belittled  "  n'angel  "  was 
one  of  her  own  fireside,  or  that  any  words  of  hers  were  ser 
ving  to  deepen  the  flush  on  Marcella's  cheek. 

So  preoccupied  had  Rathburn  been  hitherto  in  the  signifi 
cant  and  absorbing  events  of  the  evening  that  his  mind  had 
had  little  tendency  to  even  unconscious  processes  of  deduc 
tion  which  did  not  immediately  pertain  to  the  imminence  of 
his  danger  and  the  security  of  his  escape.  It  had  not  as  yet 
occurred  to  him  to  speculate  upon  the  influences  which  had 
moved  Marcella  to  so  unprecedented  a  course  as  to  lure 
away  the  secret  from  one  of  the  lynchers,  and  come  with  it 
to  the  rescue  of  a  stranger  and  the  ostracized  Baintree. 
Mrs.  Strobe's  logic,  all  unwitting  though  she  was  to  whom 


330   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

she  applied  it,  had  kindled  an  idea  in  his  brain  that  glowed 
and  burned,  and  presently  leaped  like  wild-fire  from  con 
jecture  to  conclusion,  carrying  all  before  it  in  its  irresistible 
exhilaration.  He  was  not  a  stranger  to  Marcella.  She  had 
not  forgotten  him,  evidently.  Perchance  it  was  some  nearer, 
more  coercive,  more  personal  interest  that  had  nerved  her  ; 
how  else,  indeed,  could  it  be  ?  He  had  not  hitherto  thought 
of  her  save  that  her  beauty  had  impressed  him  as  strangely 
incongruous  with  the  poverty  of  her  surroundings,  —  incom 
petent  even  to  afford  the  foil  to  the  jewel,  and  of  jarring  and 
discordant  effect ;  and  earlier  to-night  his  heart  had  only 
been  stirred  toward  her  with  genuine  gratitude.  It  was 
moved  now  with  the  sweet  vanity  of  believing  himself  be 
loved.  He  perhaps  would  have  esteemed  his  state  of  mind 
coxcombical  in  another  man,  but  poor  human  nature  is  pro 
vided  with  a  keen  vision  for  the  defects  of  others,  and  a  pur 
blind  perception  of  those  same  traits  closer  at  home.  He  felt 
a  strong  zest,  a  renewing  interest,  in  reviewing  the  circum 
stances,  when  Mrs.  Strobe,  drawing  from  her  pocket  a  corn 
cob  pipe,  proceeded  to  crumble  into  its  bowl  a  leaf  of  tobacco, 
asking  the  while,  "  An'  whar  did  this  n'angel  find  ye  ?  " 

Once  more  he  glanced  at  Marcella,  who  sat  quite  still, 
quite  grave,  listening  sedately. 

"  She  started  up  the  mountain,  thinking  she  would  go  to 
Baintree's  people,  and  that  may  be  they  would  know  where 
he  was ;  but  she  heard  the  picks  as  we  were  digging  in  a 
gorge,  and  so  she  found  us." 

Mrs.  Strobe  seemed  to  revolve  this  statement  when  it  was 
finished,  nodded  her  head  several  times,  and  emitted  two 
or  three  deliberate  puffs  of  smoke.  "  She  did,  did  she  ? " 
she  observed,  in  default  of  more  acrid  comment,  but  bent 
upon  ridicule. 

"  Then  she  told  us  all  she  knew  "  — 

"Mighty  easy  done,  I'll  bet,"  interpolated  the  little 
dame. 

—  "Or  had  heard  about  the  affair,  and  begged  us  not  to 
tell  who  told  us  "  — 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       331 

"  Tuk  a  power  o'  pains  ter  keep  herself  safe  from  the 
lynchers.  I  '11  be  bound  "  — 

ik  That  she  did  n't !  "  cried  the  young  1VJ  >w.  "  That 's 
all  she  said  about  it,  and  left  the  rest  to  our  discretion." 

"  Waal,  that  war  a  pore  dependence,  I  will  gin  up,"  said 
Mrs.  Strobe,  her  pipe  in  her  hand,  her  puckered  lips,  with 
a  laugh  well  hid  in  their  corrugations,  ostensibly  grave. 

The  color  surged  to  the  young  man's  face.  He  was  real 
izing  how  few  friends  one  has  in  the  world  ;  how  alone,  how 
piteously  solitary,  amongst  the  multitudes  of  one's  kind. 
He  felt  that  Mrs.  Strobe  and  her  son,  and  all  Broomsedge 
besides,  —  microcosmic  illustration,  —  would  have  cared  lit 
tle  had  the  event  resulted  differently.  One  would  have  blus 
tered  a  trifle  about  the  outraged  dignity  of  the  law.  The 
other  would  have  said  some  primitively  witty  things,  hardly 
decent  of  one  so  recently  dead,  and,  hampered  by  her  sense 
of  decorum,  would  have  thought  still  more  witty  things, 
which  she  would  reluctantly  have  refrained  from  saying. 
In  Glaston  and  Colbury  his  most  lenient  obituary  would 
have  been,  "  Poor  fool !  "  And  his  memory  would  have 
served  as  a  tradition  in  the  mountains  to  warn  the  next 
addle-pate  that  came  prying  into  their  hidden  chambers; 
seeking  silver  and  gold  and  worldly  treasures  !  Only  this 
girl  would  have  risked  aught  to  save  his  life.  Only  this  girl 
truly  cared  that  his  life  was  saved.  She  seemed  at  the  mo 
ment  the  only  friend  he  had  in  the  world,  —  surely,  surely 
the  best !  That  better  nature  of  his,  in  its  facile  oscillations, 
was  reasserted  anew.  He  forgot  the  flattering  personal  trib 
ute  which  he  had  been  disposed  to  arrogate  to  himself. 
He  did  not  speculate  about  her  interest  in  him.  He  began 
to  entertain  a  more  definite  intention  as  he  talked.  There 
was  something  —  it  had  almost  been  forgotten  —  that  he 
must  let  her  know. 

"  Mebbe,"  Mrs.  Strobe  resumed,  the  pause  not  being  con 
ducive  to  entertainment,  —  **  mebbe  the  gal,  or  the  n'angel, 
'lowed  ez  ye  hed  been  doin'  suthin'  a  heap  wuss,  though  not 


332   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

so  foolish,  ez  sarch  the  mountings  fur  silver.  From  the 
way  ye  an'  Jake  Baintree  talked  the  night  ye  kem  hyar  ter 
physic  Eli,  me  an'  Marcelly  'lowed  ye  mus'  hev  killed  a 
man  —  I  don't  mean  through  physickin'  him,  but  with  a 
pistol  or  stithin'  —  an'  war  a-hidin'  from  jestice." 

"  Killed  a  man  !  Great  Lord  !  "  exclaimed  Rathburn, 
aghast.  He  turned  and  looked  at  Marcella,  reproach  elo 
quent  in  his  eyes.  Had  she  ever  thought  this  of  him  ? 

The  girl  incoherently  sought  to  defend  herself  —  "  Least 
wise,  granny  said  —  't  war  granny's  word  "  —  and  fell  trem 
ulously  silent. 

"  'Peared  mighty  reason 'ble  ter  me,"  asserted  the  una 
bashed  little  dame.  "  Mebbe  that 's  what  the  n'angel  thunk 
too." 

"  If  she  thought  it,  she  did  n't  say  so,"  he  replied  slowly. 
"  But  I  wanted  it  to  seem  to  the  lynchers  as  if  it  were  by 
accident  that  I  went  to  the  forge  and  worked.  So  I  came 
over  betimes,  and  went  from  here  to  the  blacksmith's  house, 
and  could  n't  find  him  ;  and  his  mother  gave  me  permission 
to  open  the  forge,  and  I  told  her  I  had  worked  there  once 
or  twice  before." 

"  I  '11  be  bound  Clem  war  one  o'  the  lynchers !  "  cried 
Mrs.  Strobe  vivaciously.  "  Did  they  swaller  that  tale  ?  "  she 
demanded  abruptly. 

"  No  they  did  n't,"  he  rejoined.  "  Their  leader  knew  I 
had  been  warned.  —  and  —  knew  who  had  warned  me." 

"  Marcelly,  set  down  !  "  exclaimed  the  old  woman,  with 
a  sharp  note  of  reproof.  "  Ef  ye  hed  been  a  harnt  a-pop- 
pin'  up  out'n  a  grave,  ye  could  n't  hev  skeered  me  wuss  with 
yer  suddint  motions  !  " 

For  the  girl  had  started  abruptly  to  her  feet,  her  dis 
tended  eyes  fastened  upon  Rathburn,  her  face  paling,  her 
hand  half  outstretched,  trembling  violently. 

"  The  leader !  "  she  echoed,  sinking  back  upon  the  low 
bench  under  the  coercive  touch  of  Mrs.  Strobe's  hand. 
"  Who  told  him  ?  " 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       333 

"  He  did  n't  say.  but  somehow  he  got  it  out  of  the  man 
\vho  let  the  secret  slip." 

Marcelia  knitted  her  brows,  and  fixed  her  pondering  eyes 
upon  the  fire  ;  her  breath  was  quick ;  the  rich  color  had 
deserted  her  cheek.  With  one  hand  she  mechanically 
tossed  back  the  brown  curling  hair  that  fell  heavily  forward 
from  her  half-bent  head,  and  ever  and  again  she  put  back 
the  locks  with  the  same  tremulous,  unconscious  gesture. 

"  Hed  them  men  no  masks  nor  nuthin'  ?  "  demanded  Eli 
Strobe,  a  hand  on  either  knee,  as  he  leaned  slightly  for 
ward  ;  he  spoke  with  his  pipe- stem  fast  between  his  teeth. 

"  Faces  bare  as  my  hand,"  replied  Rathburn,  holding  up 
the  member  in  the  light  of  the  fire. 

"  Waal,  sir,  they  be  powerful  brigetty  an'  bold !  "  said 
Eli  Strobe  with  displeasure.  "  They  oughter  hed  the  grace 
ter  kiver  thar  faces,  knowin'  ez  thar  actions  be  plumb  agin 
the  law,  —  conspiracy,  an'  riot,  an'  ef  they  hed  hung  ye, 
murder ;  it  air  agin  the  law." 

"  That 's  why  I  am  telling  you,"  said  Rathburn.  "  They 
are  a  lawless  gang,  and  if  anything  happens  to  me,  you,  as 
an  officer  of  the  law,  are  in  possession  of  the  facts,  and 
know  just  how  and  where  to  lay  your  hand  on  the  men,  the 
ringleader  especially.  I  only  saw  two  of  them  ;  the  other, 
the  blacksmith,  is  a  hap-hazard  fellow,  and  does  his  bidding. 
The  ringleader  is  the  soul  of  the  iniquity ;  it  could  n't  move 
an  inch  without  him." 

The  fire  had  been  burning  clearly  ;  the  sticks  across  the 
andirons  had  gradually  become  each  an  entire  glowing  coal, 
of  a  live  vermilion  tint,  and  half  translucent,  yet  still  retain 
ing  the  shape  of  the  hickory  logs  they  had  once  been  ;  here 
and  there  an  elusive  amethystine  flame  flickered,  but  the 
salient  red  and  white  blaze  of  the  earlier  stages  was  quenched, 
and  the  room  was  all  in  a  dusky  red  shadow  save  for  now 
and  then  a  livid  purple  gleam.  Isabel  nodded  as  she  sat  on 
the  inverted  noggin  ;  sleep  seemed  with  her  in  some  sort  an 
ailment,  since  it  so  reduced  her  from  her  normal  state  of 


334       THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOM  SEDGE   COVE. 

conversation.  It  was  as  if  a  palsy  had  fallen  upon  her 
faculties,  and  her  face,  bereft  of  its  wonted  animation,  was 
unfamiliar,  and  pathetic,  and  forlornly  reflective.  The  dog 
of  the  u  frequent  visitor  "  took  note  even  in  his  slumbers 
of  the  dwindling  state  of  the  fire,  and,  with  a  countenance 
much  solemnized  by  sleep  and  preternaturally  sober,  came 
and  stood  before  it  for  a  time,  steadfastly  regarding  it. 
Then  with  a  loud  yawn,  intrusive  in  the  silence,  he  stretched 
his  elastic  length,  rasping  his  nails  on  the  stones  of  the 
hearth,  and  lay  down  once  more  before  it.  A  cock  crew, 
a  muffled  alarum  in  the  distance  ;  no  other  sound  from  the 
frosty  midnight  without.  The  example  of  the  old  hound 
had  caused  Mrs.  Strobe  to  yawn  too,  with  that  epidemic 
appreciation  of  fatigue  which  the  demonstration  usually 
produces.  She  was  not  sorry  for  this,  despite  her  ample 
repositories  of  what  she  collectively  termed  "  manners." 
She  was  in  hopes  Rathburn  would  note  it,  and  draw  the 
natural  inference. 

"  He  'lowed  he  would  n't  bide  all  night,  so  he  mought  jes' 
ez  well  take  the  hint  an'  stir  his  stumps  away  from  hyar. 
I  never  see  sech  a  ow-el  ez  the  man,"  she  thought. 

But  Glaston  and  Colbury  hours  were  later  than  those 
kept  in  the  mountains,  and  although  Rathburn  was  aware 
that  his  stay  exceeded  the  customary  limits,  he  had  no  idea 
of  its  unprecedented  extent.  He  went  on  after  a  momen 
tary  pause :  — 

"  He  is  a  very  dangerous  customer.  The  eye  of  the  law 
could  n't  be  better  employed  than  fixed  on  that  man.  In 
Glaston,  or  Colbury,  or  anywhere  else,  they  'd  be  awfully 
pleased  to  get  up  any  kind  of  a  charge  against  such  a  dom 
ineering  blusterer  as  that,  which  would  lock  him  up  some 
where,  safe  out  of  harm's  way." 

He  nodded  his  head  once  or  twice  in  emphatic  confir 
mation  of  the  burden  of  his  thoughts.  He  felt  suddenly  as 
if  civilization,  the  world,  all  the  mechanism  of  law  and  art 
and  knowledge  that  he  seemed  to  have  been  familiarized 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOM  SEDGE  COVE.       335 

with  in  some  previous  state  of  existence  on  some  alien 
planet,  were  not  so  far  away,  after  all,  save  in  sentiment. 
What  could  be  easier  than  to  place  the  headstrong  despot 
of  Broomsedge  Cove  under  the  surveillance  of  a  law  stronger 
even  than  that  which  he  wielded  with  so  arrogant  and  abso 
lute  a  temper  ?  He  was  not  so  far  from  the  county  authori 
ties,  who  might  take  more  cognizance  of  such  matters  than 
the  constable  of  Broomsedge  Cove  ;  as  lynch-law  and  the 
domination  of  a  community  according  to  the  will  of  regu 
lators  might  to  them  perchance  be  less  familiar.  The  recol 
lection,  ignominious  he  felt  it  to  be,  of  his  fear ;  the  terrible 
strain  on  his  nerves ;  the  mere  chance  that  had  saved  his 
life,  —  this  girl's  word  of  warning  and  his  own  clever  di 
plomacy  in  its  use,  —  all  were  bitter  still  to  him,  and  his 
escape  held  none  of  the  sweets  of  triumph. 

He  would  rejoice  to  be  revenged :  not  upon  Clem 
Sanders,  who  seemed,  in  his  hap-hazard  lack  of  logic,  as 
irresponsible  as  a  child  —  not  upon  the  unnumbered,  unin- 
dividualized,  unimagined  vigilantes  at  the  barn,  but  upon 
Teck  Jepson.  With  all  the  fervor  of  a  deep,  suddenly 
awakened  hatred  he  longed  to  see  him  cringe  and  cower. 
He  resented  his  lofty  serenity,  his  calm  admission  of  the 
usurpation  of  power,  his  deliberate,  open  avowal  of  his  in 
tentions  and  of  his  conditional  clemency.  He  should  like 
to  see  this  doughty  mountaineer  face  the  law  he  had  in 
sulted.  His  lip  curled  at  the  thought ;  he  stroked  his  mus 
tache  in  the  satisfaction  that  the  mental  picture  afforded 
him.  He  too  could  follow  out  a  scheme ;  he  too  could  plot, 
and  lie  in  wait,  and  capture.  "  With  stronger  toils,  my  fine 
fellow !  " 

He  encountered  a  sudden  rebuff  in  the  sequence  of  the 
idea,  —  the  ridicule  that  would  attach  to  the  revelation  in 
Glaston  that  in  his  perfectly  tame  and  lawful  prospecting 
for  silver  he  should  have  been  hauled  up  before  the  captain 
of  vigilantes.  He  felt,  too,  that  there  was  a  certain  element 
of  derogation  in  his  very  enterprise.  Unless  he  should  find 


336   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

silver,  he  hardly  cared  that  it  should  be  known  in  his  world 
that  he  had  sought  it.  And  yet  he  quivered  with  eagerness 
at  the  very  thought  of  vengeance  upon  Teck  Jepson.  Fine 
sport,  to  be  sure,  to  run  down  this  big  game  of  the  Smoky 
Mountains. 

"  For  all  he  is  so  pious  !  "  he  exclaimed  with  a  sneer. 

Eli  Strobe  turned  a  slow  glance  upon  him. 

"  Who  be  ye  a-talkin'  'bout  ?  "  he  demanded  quietly. 

"  That  fellow  I  saw  over  at  the  forge  there,  —  the  ring 
leader  of  the  lynchers.  Teck  Jepson  is  his  name." 

An  uncomprehended  sensation,  of  which  Rathburn  never 
theless  was  aware,  swept  through  the  circle.  He  felt  a  vague 
surprise  to  see  Marcella  start  up  in  the  dusky  red  glow  of 
the  dwindling  fire,  and  sink  back  uncertain,  with  a  pallid, 
distraught  face.  In  the  puckers  of  Mrs.  Strobe's  wizened 
little  countenance,  dimly  white  in  the  gloom,  his  transitory 
glance  detected  a  strange  embarrassment  and  discomfort. 
Isabel  had  roused  herself,  and  was  peering  at  him  from  her 
lowly  seat.  His  host's  head  was  bent  toward  him,  the  long 
neck  outstretched,  his  tangled  locks  and  beard  hanging  for 
ward,  as  he  stared  in  the  utmost  amazement. 

"  Ye  never  seen  Teck  Jepson  to-night  at  the  forge,  young 
man." 

"  But  I  did,"  protested  Rathburn.  "  That  was  what 
Clem  Sanders  called  him,  —  a  tall,  powerfully  built  man." 

"  Light-complected  ?  "  asked  Strobe. 

"  As  a  girl,  —  and  he  lias  blue  eyes,  and  very  dark  hair 
and  beard,  and  is  slow  stepping,  and  solemn  spoken." 

Eli  Strobe  had  thrown  himself  back  in  his  chair.  The 
deep  bass  rumble  of  his  laughter  sounded  a  trifle  muffled. 
He  was  laughing  to  himself.  "  Ye  never  seen  Teck  Jepson." 

A  crash,  and  the  women  cried  out,  fetaitled;  but  it  was 
only  the  breaking  of  the  logs,  long  delayed,  and  the  chunks 
falling,  some  within  and  some  beyond  the  andirons,  were 
sending  up  streams  of  white  flame.  Rathburn  turned  in 
stantly  back  to  see  the  constable  lying  at  ease  in  his  chair, 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.      337 

the  laughter  fading  from  his  face  as  he  reiterated,  "  Ye 
never  seen  Teck  Jepson." 

He  pulled  himself  forward,  and  leaning  over  laid  his 
hand  on  the  guest's  knee  ;  looking  into  Rathburn's  face,  he 
said  significantly,  "  He  's  dead  !  " 

Bathburn  sat  silent  for  a  moment,  as  if  doubting  his  senses, 
"  I  saw  him,  he  spoke  to  me,  not  half  an  hour  ago,"  he  in 
sisted. 

"  Ye  never  seen  him."  Eli  Strobe  shook  his  head,  with 
its  long,  melancholy  locks,  slowly  from  side  to  side.  "  Ye 
never  seen  him.  Ye  seen  his  harnt.  He  hev  sot  out  ter 
walk.  I  seen  his  harnt  wunst,  myself.  He  's  dead  !  " 

He  sank  back  in  his  chair,  while  Rathburn,  perplexed 
and  uncomprehending,  gazed  startled  at  him.  The  white 
firelight  had  conjured  all  the  room  from  out  the  dusky  nul 
lity  that  had  been  creeping  over  it.  The  pendent  trophies 
from  the  rafters  seemed  to  sway  as  the  light  chased  the 
shadows  through  their  midst.  The  glad  scarlet  of  the 
strings  of  peppers  asserted  its  tint  anew,  and  many  hanks  of 
saffron  yarn  lent  it  contrast  and  company.  Marcella's  fair 
face  shone  out  upon  the  background  of  flickering  brown  and 
fleeting  gold,  and  the  night  seemed  to  have  grown  younger 
with  this  sense  of  movement  and  life  and  light ;  the  nerves 
took  less  heed  of  the  lateness  of  the  hour.  The  dog  turned 
his  neck  in  a  way  that  challenged  dislocation,  and  looked 
about  the  room ;  then  rose  slowly  and  stiffly,  taking  it  for 
granted  that,  with  this  new  cheer,  it  was  day,  and  now  and 
then  wagging  a  languid  tail  as  he  glanced  around  at  Mar- 
cella,  expecting  to  see  her  set  about  getting  breakfast.  Not 
once  did  Rathburn's  absorption  flag  as  he  sat  and  stead 
fastly  gazed  at  his  host ;  he  hardly  moved  an  eyelash,  so 
tense,  so  fixed,  so  strained,  was  his  attention. 

As  Eli  Strobe  glanced  up  from  the  fire  he  encountered  the 
intent  inquiry  in  Rathburn's  face. 

"  Ye  seen  his  harnt,"  he  reiterated,  in  reply  to  the  look. 
"  He  's  dead.  I  kilt  Teck  Jepson  myself,  an'  I  oughter 
know.  He  's  dead." 


338   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

A  sudden  swift  expression  crossed  the  stranger's  face  like 
a  flash  of  light.  Marcella  saw  the  gleam  of  his  teeth,  white 
under  his  yellow  mustache  ;  he  put  up  one  hand  and  stroked 
it,  as  was  his  wont  in  excitement. 

"  Why,  now,  that 's  a  fact !  "  he  rejoined  coolly.  "  I  had 
forgotten  that  I  had  heard  that." 

The  next  moment  he  leaned  forward,  extending  the  other 
hand  half  closed,  and  with  a  delicate  tentative  gesture  he 
laid  it  on  the  constable's  wrist. 

"  Let  me  feel  your  pulse,  Mr.  Strobe,"  he  said  irrelevantly. 
"  You  are  still  getting  better,  I  suppose  ?  " 

The  constable  silently  submitted.  Then  pursuing  the 
subject,  he  added.  "  They  can't  do  nuthin'  ter  me  fur  it, 
though,  —  me  bein'  officer  o'  the  law,  an'  Teck  engaged  in 
a  onlawf ul  act.  I  pulled  Teck  off 'n  his  hoss-critter  an'  bruk 
his  neck."  He  nodded  his  head  in  doughty  triumph.  "  1 
war  sorry  some  arterwards.  Teck  war  a  good  man  in  the 
main." 

"  Well,  his  *  harnt '  ain't  a  good  '  harnt,'  "  the  young  man 
flippantly  declared. 

His  tone  jarred  upon  Marcella,  so  sensitive  she  was  for 
her  father's  sake,  so  wounded  in  the  pride  she  had  once  felt 
in  his  preeminence.  The  wound  ceased  to  ache  as  she  no 
ticed  the  deep  attention  with  which  Rathburn  regarded  the- 
invalid.  In  truth,  Eli  Strobe  well  and  hearty  was  not  half 
the  man,  in  his  estimation,  that  Eli  Strobe  was  with  this 
strange  malady,  and  the  contemplation  of  the  perfection  of 
reason  could  not  have  so  enthralled  and  invigorated  his 
jaded  perceptions  as  did  this  forlorn  folly  of  a  mental  de 
lusion.  He  made  no  further  allusion  to  the  spectral  ring 
leader,  although  more  than  once  he  turned  again  and  sur 
veyed  with  his  keen  professional  gaze  the  constable's  face. 
In  his  deft  choosing  of  a  subject  of  discussion,  he  seemed  to 
to  experiment  with  the  invalid's  capacities,  and  Marcella 
was  amazed  to  note  how  rationally,  with  what  strong  good 
sense,  Eli  Strobe  talked,  reminding  her  of  "  dad's  con  versa- 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.   339 

tion  "  of  yore,  in  which  she  had  experienced  such  filial 
pride. 

At  last  the  guest  rose  to  go,  and  she  listened,  as  she  stood 
in  the  doorway,  to  the  faint  footfalls  on  the  hard  ground, 
growing  ever  fainter  as  the  distance  increased,  —  listened 
and  looked  out  at  the  still  and  solitary  night,  so  white  with 
the  moon  and  the  frost  in  the  midst  of  its  normal  gloom. 
So  mute  it  was,  so  replete  with  a  sense  of  loneliness.  It 
seemed  that  not  even  some  belated  vigilante  could  be  astir 
in  that  desert  of  dark  mountains,  and  icy  white  glintings, 
and  profundity  of  silences.  The  fear  that  could  but  quiver 
at  the  thought  grew  still  after  a  moment,  and  she  became 
conscious  that  her  grandmother  had  twice  spoken  to  her. 

"  Marcelly,"  cried  the  irate  little  dame,  "  what  ails  ye  ter 
stan'  thar  in  the  door  a-lookin'  out  at  the  moon  ez  big-eyed 
ez  a  ow-el,  ez  ef  ye  war  bound  ter  watch  ter  see  the  man 
go  ?  I  ain't  a-wonderin'  at  ye  nuther  "  (sarcastically)  ;  "  he 
makes  the  shortes'  visits  o'  enny  o'  the  fool  folks  ez  kerns  ter 
this  house.  Bein'  ez  he  air  a  doctor-man,  nex'  time  he 
kerns  I  be  a-goin'  ter  ax  him  ef  he  hain't  got  enny  lotium  ez» 
will  brace  up  a  sensible  woman's  back  ter  endure  the  strain 
o'  hearin'  a  young  fool  talk  fower  hour  at  a  stretch.  Ye 
need  n't  stan'  thar  stare-gazin'  the  moon,  I  tell  ye,  a-think- 
in'  ye  look  so  powerful  pritty  an'  enticin',  with  yer  eyes 
stretched  so  big  an'  shinin',"  becoming  suddenly  sensible  of 
the  ethereal  beauty  in  the  girl's  fair  face.  "  Thar  's  lots  o' 
wimmen  in  this  worl'  ez  spends  thar  time  lookin'  pritty  fur 
nuthin'.  Fur  ye  mark  my  words,  —  ye  can't  cut  out  that 
n'angel  o'  a  gal  ez  brung  him  the  news  'bout  the  lynchers ; 
he  air  dead  in  love  with  her,  else  all  signs  fail !  " 

"  Oh,"  faltered  Marcella,  "  I  'low  ye  mus'  be  mistaken  — 
't  war  jes'  —  jes'  "  — 

"  Jes'  what  ?  I  reckon  I  know  folks  in  love  whenst  I  see 
'em.  Strange  ez  it  may  'pear,  I  war  wunst  a  fool  o'  that 
kind  myself,"  she  added,  with  a  whimsical  pucker  of  the 
lips,  as  she  began  to  cover  the  fire  with  the  abundant  ashes, 
that  it  might  last  till  morning. 


340       THE  DESP07'  OF  BROOM  SEDGE  COVE. 

She  paused  presently  with  a  deeply  reflective  counte 
nance,  shown  half  in  the  glow  of  the  lire,  and  half  in  the 
brilliant  moonlight,  falling  through  the  open  window  and 
door.  "  I  wonder  which  o'  these  hyar  mounting  gals  the 
idjit  'lows  looks  like  a  n'angel.  Mus'  hev  heen  Em'line 
Bolter,  'ceptin'  I  reckon  no  n'angel  air  ez  freckled  ez  her, 
—  reg'lar  tur-r-key-aig ;  or  else  Ar'bella  Jane  Perkins, 
though  she  air  some  cornsider'ble  red-headed.  But  laws- 
a-massy,  that  don't  make  no  diff'ence.  "When  a  man  sets 
out  ter  be  a  fool,  an'  fall  in  love,  Providence  in  its  mercy 
warps  his  judgment,  an'  mos'  enny  gal  mought  'pear  like  a 
n'angel.  Ye  Marcelly,  quit  hangin'  on  that  door,  a-saggin' 
it  off'n  the  henges  an'  a-stare-gazin  the  moon." 

It  was  lower  now  in  the  sky,  and  showed  through  the 
fringes  of  the  pines ;  its  pensive  light  was  in  the  girl's  lus 
trous  eyes  a  moment  longer,  and  then  the  door  was  closed. 


XIX. 

IT  was  close  upon  dawn  when  Rathburn  reached  his  des 
tination.  He  could  hardly  have  defined  the  time  when  he 
began  to  appreciate  that  daylight  had  invaded  the  mystic 
moonlit  splendors.  There  the  golden  sphere  still  hung ;  out 
of  it  the  fine  ethereal  fires  were  dying  —  paling,  and  grow 
ing  yet  more  dim  —  above  the  purple  Chilhowee  ;  definite- 
ness  was  gradually  evolving  out  of  the  shadows ;  a  valley 
was  shaping  its  sinuous  course  where  violet  vagueness  had 
seemed  a  plenitude  of  form  and  fixity  before.  A  dull, 
gray,  hard  color  never  known  in  the  fine  lunar  chromatics, 
lay  upon  a  stretch  of  leafless  woods.  A  dark,  sombre 
green,  cold  and  funereal,  betokened  the  pines  and  the  laurel 
groves,  As  the  moon  dulled  and  the  day  dallied,  stars  had 
suddenly  bloomed  out  with  palpitating  splendor.  One  of  a 
white  glister  shone  above  the  rugged  eastern  crags,  and 
was  the  herald  of  the  dawn.  He  was  feeling  the  strength 
of  the  matutinal  resurrection  in  his  veins,  in  his  lungs,  ex 
panding  to  its  fine,  keen  freshness.  He  hardly  realized 
that  he  had  been  awake  all  night,  after  a  long  day's  tramp 
with  his  pick  through  the  rugged  gorges  of  the  mountains. 
He  had  long  since  ceased  to  glance  apprehensively  to  the 
right  and  left,  lest  there  might  be  still  an  avenger  lurking 
upon  his  track,  as  he  took  his  way  along  the  herder's  trail 
through  the  savage  wilderness.  Confidence  came  renewed 
with  renewed  freedom.  He  stopped  to  see,  through  a  gap 
in  the  mountain,  all  along  the  summits  of  the  misty  purple 
ranges,  a  line  of  vermilion  rise,  expanding  into  the  broad 
spaces  of  the  pale  sky,  for  the  living  sun  was  in  the  vital 
air.  He  hears  an  eagle  cry,  the  sound  infinitely  wild  and 


342        THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOM  SEDGE   COVE. 

joyous  with  a  savage  enthusiasm  in  life ;  the  splendid  sweep 
of  the  great  hird's  wings  describe  long  curves  in  the  light 
air,  and  the  yellow  glow  slants  so  far,  so  far !  A  warm 
day,  —  for  where  is  the  frost  ?  That  fine  vaporous  tissue, 
all  that  there  is  to  show  for  those  premonitions  of  winter  in 
the  vanished  white  rime !  All  going  down  and  down  to 
Hang-Over  Mountain,  to  lurk  about  the  cold  currents  of  the 
Little  Tennessee. 

There  was  moisture  on  the  full  yellow  leaves  of  the  hick 
ory,  the  splendid  red  foliage  of  the  scarlet  oak  and  the  sour- 
wood,  shaken  out  afresh  as  bravely  as  if  summer  burned 
still  in  the  sap ;  there  were  ferns  green  yet,  here  and  there. 
He  stooped  to  pick  a  spray  of  the  lilac  "  Christmas  flower," 
and  thrust  it  jauntily  in  the  button-hole  of  his  blue  flannel 
shirt ;  then,  as  his  path  curved  abruptly,  he  came  within 
sight  of  the  deserted  cabin  which  he  and  Baintree  had  lately 
made  their  camp. 

Somehow,  with  its  dark  little  roof  beneath  that  vast  sky, 
so  splendidly  aflare,  the  gigantic  vigorous  trees  on  every 
hand,  the  gallant  wind  a-blaring  all  its  bugles  down  the  ra 
vines,  the  sense  of  great  openness  and  infinite  space,  it 
seemed  doubly  mean,  and  the  plots  devised  there  curiously 
sordid,  and  the  episode  and  escape  of  last  night  grotesquely 
ignominious.  In  the  midst  of  the  conscious  physical  luxury 
that  every  respiration  of  the  high  air  afforded,  he  wished 
he  had  never  seen  the  place  ;  his  cherished  scheme,  for 
which  he  had  risked  so  much,  palled  for  the  nonce.  He 
became  aware  of  a  great  infusion  of  bitterness  toward  Jake 
Baintree,  that  was  not  less  strong  because  of  contempt. 

"  And  where  has  he  gone,  I  wonder  ?  "  he  said,  as  he 
approached  the  cabin. 

For  there  was  no  smoke  from  the  chimney  and  the  place 
was  silent.  He  checked  his  pace  as  he  went  toward  the 
door.  The  unhewn  logs  that  had  once  formed  the  steps  to 
ascend  to  the  threshold  had  rotted  down  at  one  side  ;  the 
wood  quaked  and  gave  way  anew  under  his  tread,  as  he  laid 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOM  SEDGE   COVE.       343 

his  hand  on  tha  latch.  It  was  not  fastened,  and  the  door 
easily  swung  back  under  his  touch. 

The  room  was  vacant,  illumined  less  by  the  rifts  in  the 
broken  batten  shutter  than  by  the  pale  stream  of  light  that 
came  down  the  chimney,  for  the  embers  had  died  on  the 
hearth.  A  repugnance,  a  paroxysm  of  fastidiousness,  seized 
him  as  he  looked  in  at  the  desolate  discomforts,  the  sordid 
bareness,  of  the  place. 

"  This  is  no  way  to  live  !  "  he  exclaimed,  forgetful  for  the 
moment  of  the  wealth  that  barely  eluded  his  clutching  hand ; 
and  as  he  remembered  it  he  thought  it  would  be  hardly 
earned.  He  had  not  cared  heretofore  for  the  deprivations 
v/hich  he  had  endured  although  he  had  found  scant  con 
geniality  in  his  comrade.  The  suspicion  of  crime,  how 
ever,  which  attached  to  Baintree  had  seemed  but  the  touch 
of  romance  to  the  backwoods  desperado.  But  Jake  had 
proved  himself  little  fitted  for  that  stanch  role  ;  and  how 
ever  natural  his  flight  when  he  heard  of  the  danger,  Rath- 
burn  had  not  the  dispassionate  temperament  to  regard  it 
leniently.  He  felt  that  it  savored  strongly  of  cowardice,  he 
mentally  designated  his  comrade  a  "  contemptible  cur,"  and 
he  began  to  feel  a  certain  absorbing  curiosity  concerning 
the  whereabouts  of  Samuel  Keale  and  how  he  had  met  his 
fate. 

When  he  had  kindled  a  fire  and  sat  down  before  it,  clasp 
ing  his  hands  behind  his  head,  waiting  for  the  coals  that  he 
might  prepare  the  primitive  meal,  which  in  his  rough  expe 
rience  he  had  learned  to  cook,  he  entered  upon  a  continuous 
expectation  of  Baintree's  return.  This  grew  to  an  irritable 
suspense.  More  than  once  he  rose,  walked  to  the  door,  and 
stood  looking  over  the  vast  landscape  and  scanning  the  little 
path  that  their  feet  had  worn  to  the  spring,  with  the  vivid 
intimation  that  in  another  instant  he  should  see  the  tall, 
thin  figure,  the  cadaverous  face,  the  sleek  black  hair,  emerge 
from  the  clustering  laurel.  But  except  for  a  rabbit,  leaping 
along,  and  pausing  to  feed  itself  upon  a  succulent  green 


344   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE, 

leaf,  held  very  humanly  between  its  fore-paws,  —  except 
for  this  wayfarer,  and  the  slow  paces  of  the  sunlight  loiter 
ing  on  to  noon,  naught  came  and  naught  went.  Sometimes 
when  Rathburn  returned  to  the  fire  he  examined  anew  the 
specimens  which  together  they  had  found,  —  all  strangely 
inferior,  strangely  meagre,  in  contrast  to  the  rich  bits  of 
**  float "  which  Baintree  had  showed  him  in  the  prison,  and 
with  which  he  had  lured  him  on  from  day  to  day. 

"  He  never  found  this  beside  that  torrent  in  the  gorge,  — 
he  may  swear  till  he  is  blue  !  "  Rathburn  looked  at  the  bit 
of  rock,  shook  his  head,  and  replaced  it  on  the  rude  shelf 
that  served  as  mantelpiece.  And  once  more  he  went  to 
the  door. 

There  should  be  no  more  delays,  no  more  tortuous  lies,  with 
which  he  had  borne  merely  seeking  to  humor  the  ignorant 
mountaineer,  to  familiarize  him  with  the  idea  of  a  coadjutor, 
to  wear  out  the  constitutional  distrust  of  the  man.  He 
would  wait  no  longer ;  let  him  lay  hands  again  on  Jake 
Baintree,  —  he  unconsciously  clenched  the/n,  —  and  he 
would  have  out  of  him  the  secret  he  so  foolishly,  so  zeal 
ously,  guarded.  And  yet  he  thought  that  daily  Baintree 
intended  to  reveal  it;  and  when  they  would  set  forth  to 
find  the  spot,  the  mountaineer  would  first  become  preoc 
cupied,  then  silent,  and  presently  stop  short  and  pretend  in 
clumsy  fiction  to  recognize  landmarks,  and  both  would  go 
through  a  fruitless  feint  of  digging  to  find  mineral  that  both 
knew  was  still  far  to  seek. 

"  There  has  been  enough  of  it !  "  Rathburn  declared  be 
tween  his  set  teeth,  in  his  reverie. 

The  prospect  had  all  apparently  seemed  equitable  to 
Baintree.  He  had  rejoiced  at  the  idea  of  securing  an  ex 
pert  in  some  sort  as  a  partner  ;  he  had  voluntarily  offered 
to  divide.  Perhaps  the  inchoate  wealth  of  his  secret  had 
become  more  precious  to  him ;  perhaps  he  merely  doubted 
the  good  faith  of  his  partner.  But  the  summer  months 
had  gone,  and  autumn  was  waning.  "  And  it 's  time  there 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.   345 

was  an  end  of  it,"  Rathburn  said,  still  looking  out  of  the 
door. 

Exhaustion  prevailed  at  last  and  overpowered  vigilance. 
He  had  lain  down  upon  the  floor,  pillowing  his  head  on  a 
saddle  that  had  been  flung  there,  intending  merely  to  rest ; 
but  he  was  soon  asleep,  and  the  sun  swung  vertically  above 
the  Great  Smoky,  and  gradually  took  its  way  down  the 
steep  western  slopes,  and  presently  the  light  faded  from  the 
purple  earth,  and  the  stars  were  in  the  great  altitudes  of  the 
sky,  alternating  with  vast  spaces  of  gloom,  for  the  night  had 
brought  clouds,  and  the  moonrise  was  impenetrably  veiled. 
Still  he  slept,  unheeding  that  the  fire  had  died  to  an  ember 
on  the  hearth,  unheeding  that  the  wind  howled  in  the  gorge. 
The  door  shook  in  its  rude  grasp ;  the  roof  creaked  ;  sharp 
draughts  came  through  the  crannies,  and  scattered  the  dry 
ashes  about  the  floor.  Suddenly  there  was  a  sound  outside 
other  than  the  swirl  of  the  dead  leaves  about  the  rotting 
threshold.  A  stealthy  step  came  to  the  vindow.  A  face 
peered  in  through  the  rifts  of  the  batten  shutter. 

Rathburn  might  have  seen  it,  for  the  embers  sent  up  at 
that  moment  a  fitful  blue  gleam  which  played  over  the  room, 
showing  its  dishevelment  and  his  own  recumbent  figure, 
with  its  yellow  head  on  the  old  dark  saddle,  and  showing  as 
well  the  face  that  looked  in,  —  but  he  was  too  deep,  far  too 
deep,  in  his  dream. 

The  tiny  flame  dropped  ;  the  red  ember  glowed  ;  the  room 
was  lighter  than  the  black  wilds  without,  and  perhaps  the 
recumbent  figure  beside  the  hearth  was  still  visible  to  the 
peering  eyes,  themselves  now  invisible  from  within.  The 
subtile  influence  of  their  long,  steadfast  scrutiny  shook  even 
the  deep  securities  of  slumber.  It  pervaded  Rathburn's 
consciousness,  —  how,  with  all  his  science  he  might  hardly 
have  explained.  He  shifted  his  attitude  once  or  twice  ;  then 
with  a  great  start  he  struggled  up  to  his  feet. 

For  a  moment  the  stupefying  pain  of  a  sudden  awaken 
ing  possessed  his  torpid  consciousness.  The  next,  he  heard 


346   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

the  wind  trumpeting  a  blast  that  he  had  learned  to  know, 
and  he  reluctantly  realized  his  surroundings.  Once  more 
he  felt  the  chill  of  those  scrutinizing  eyes  upon  him,  —  a 
vague  uneasiness  which  he  could  not  recognize.  His  long- 
drawn  sigh  of  somnolent  reaction  was  checked  midway. 
He  stooped  to  the  fire,  and  vainly  sought  to  coax  the  embers 
to  kindle  anew.  The  sound  of  his  own  voice  in  an  impa 
tient  exclamation  had  a  strange  echo  in  the  empty  lone 
liness  of  the  place.  He  had  matches  in  his  pockets,  or, 
like  the  provident  mountaineers,  he  would  not  have  suf 
fered  the  fire  to  die.  It  was  only  a  moment  or  two  before 
the  long,  ribbon-like  unfurlings  of  the  white  flames  of  pine 
knots  were  flying  up  the  chimney,  and  there  was  no  face  at 
the  window,  and  no  sound  but  the  riotous  play  of  the  wind 
without. 

He  had  taken  a  chair  before  the  fire  when  his  alert  ear 
discriminated  in  the  elemental  stir  a  step  that  deliberately 
approached.  There  was  a  hand  upon  the  latch. 

"  Come  in  !  "  he  sang  out,  without  rousing  himself,  or 
hardly  turning  his  head.  He  felt  sure  of  the  identity  of 
the  new-comer.  He  could  measure,  too,  the  deprecating 
envy  and  embarrassment  that  the  contemplation  of  his 
serenity  and  bravado  would  excite  in  the  wary  and  timor 
ously  suspicious  Baintree,  and  he  was  in  the  mood  to-night 
when  that  display  of  manly  superiority  was  a  grateful  solace 
to  his  feelings  and  pride,  so  seriously  jarred  by  the  events 
of  last  evening.  He  did  not  look  up  until  Baintree  was 
drawing  the  other  rickety  chair  to  the  fire,  turning  toward 
him  an  eager,  inquiring  face,  every  muscle  cf  which  ex 
pressed  surprise,  suspicion,  and  an  earnest  plea  to  disarm 
criticism. 

"  Howdy  do,  Jake,"  observed  Rathburn,  enjoying  his 
suspense.  "  The  weather  is  getting  to  be  '  some,'  if  not 
more,  ain't  it?  Listen  at  the  wind,  will  you." 

"  The  wind  's  sorter  harsh  ter-night,"  said  Baintree.  He 
sat  down  quietly  in  his  chair,  taking  his  cue  from  Rath- 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.   347 

burn's  manner  and  emulating  his  composure.  Neverthe 
less,  to  the  trained  medical  eye  he  was  showing  many  symp 
toms  of  overwrought  nerves,  of  long,  harassing  anxiety  ;  he 
had  doubtless  been  without  food,  without  sleep,  for  many 
an  hour. 

Rathburn  was  conscious  that  in  the  coming  interview  he 
would  derive  an  advantage  from  the  long,  restful  slumber  in 
which  the  day  had  passed,  and  which  had  given  brain  and 
will  again  into  his  own  control.  The  professional  conscience, 
however,  stirred  at  the  sight  of  physical  need. 

411  Get  you  something  to  eat,  Jake,"  he  said  with  his  pro 
fessional  manner.  "  You  want  it.  Must  be  something  on 
the  shelf." 

But  Baintree,  rubbing  together  his  long,  thin  hands,  a 
trifla  chilled,  for  the  temperature  without  had  changed,  de 
clared  that  he  was  not  hungry. 

u  All  right,"  returned  the  doctor,  lightly.  "  I  can  lead 
a  horse  to  water,  but  I  can't  make  him  drink." 

The  last  word  seemed  to  remind  Baintree  that  there  was 
a  bottle  on  the  shelf  as  well  as  food.  He  got  up  with  his 
alert,  soft  step,  took  a  long  pull  at  it,  and  came  back  to  his 
comrade  with  its  effects  distinctly  apparent  in  the  aroma 
upon  his  breath  and  the  confidence  which  it  served  to  im 
part  to  his  manner.  He  pushed  his  hat  far  back  on  his 
sleek  black  head,  rubbed  his  face  once  or  twice  between  his 
hands,  and  then,  leaning  his  elbows  on  his  knees,  he  spread 
out  his  thin,  almost  transparent  fingers  over  the  blaze.  He 
looked  craftily  up,  presently,  at  Rathburn,  who  sat  gazing 
placidly  into  the  fire,  one  hand  stroking  his  long  yellow  mus 
tache.  Few  people  could  have  augured  from  his  easy  com 
posure  and  his  debonair  grace  that  he  had  lately  been  in 
danger  of  his  life  at  the  hands  of  a  mob,  or  that  he  owed 
his  security  to  aught  that  he  could  plan  or  compass. 

*'  Marcelly  Strobe  mus'  hev  been  foolin'  we-uns  some. 
Funnin',  I  s'pose,"  Baintree  hazarded. 

"  She  told  the  truth,  as  she  always  does,  I  am  sure." 


348   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

Baintree's  outspread  hands  quivered  despite  the  fictitious 
courage  imparted  by  apple-jack.  His  eyes  dilated. 

"  War  —  war  thar  ennyhody  thar  sure  enough  ?  " 

"  Plenty  of  'em.     But  only  two  came  to  the  forge." 

"  What  —  what  did  they  say  ?  " 

"  Oh,  they  were  civil  enough,"  returned  Rathhurn  in  an 
offhand  fashion. 

"  How  did  you  git  away  from  'em  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  had  no  trouble.  I  did  just  as  I  told  you  I 
should  :  went  to  the  blacksmith's  house  and  roused  up  his 
mother,  and  pretended  to  be  hunting  for  him." 

"  Did  that  tale  go  down  ?  "  asked  Baintree,  his  relish  of 
deceiving  the  enemy  even  by  proxy  causing  his  eyes  to 
glitter. 

u  Not  a  bit  of  it.  That  devil  Teck  Jepson  had  got  wind 
of  our  being  warned,  and  of  who  warned  us.  He  just  felt 
sort  o'  good,  I  suppose,  and  let  me  off." 

"  He  would  n't  ef  I  had  been  thar,"  said  Baintree  with  a 
pessimistic  nod  of  the  head. 

"  He  would  !  " 

Baintree  did  not  retaliate  with  a  counter-retort.  He  was 
silent  for  a  moment.  Then  he  observed,  "  Teck  an'  Mar- 
celly  useter  keep  comp'ny  tergether.  I  '11  bet  she  got 
skeered  arter  she  warned  us,  an'  let  him  know  she  hed  gin 
us  the  word." 

"  She  ain't  one  of  that  kind.  She  don't  scare  worth  a 
cent.  She  's  worth  any  ten  men  !  " 

There  was  something  so  fervent  in  his  tone  that  it  seemed 
to  give  a  ne\v  and  unique  direction  to  Jake  Baintree's 
thoughts. 

Presently  he  said,  "  She  air  a  powerful  good  an'  pritty 
gal,  Marcelly  air  !  But  she  ain't  in  no  wise  like  them  young 
town  gals  in  Glaston.  I  useter  see  'em  on  the  street  whenst 
I  war  fetched  from  the  jail  ter  the  court.  Them  's  the  sort 
ye  been  'quainted  with,  —  the  kind  that  walks  with  par'sols. 
She  ain't  in  no  wise  like  them  fine  town  gals." 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE,       349 

"  And  what  if  she  ain't  ?  She  'a  better  than  them  all  put 
together,  and  a  thousand  times  prettier." 

It  was  hardly  twenty-four  hours  since  she  had  bestirred 
herself  to  save  his  life,  and  his  heart  was  still  warm  toward 
her. 


XX. 

BAINTKEE  lifted  his  sleek  black  head  for  a  moment,  and 
covertly  surveyed  his  fireside  companion,  whose  eyes  were 
fixed  meditatively  on  the  coals.  There  was  an  expression 
of  acute  though  surprised  comprehension  in  the  face  of  the 
crafty  mountaineer ;  his  elevated  eyebrows,  keen,  quick 
glance,  and  thin  pursed  lips  betokened  much  deft  and  agile 
deduction  and  analysis,  although  none  of  these  swift  pro 
cesses  were  indicated  in  the  reflective  mien  into  which  he 
had  relapsed  before  Rathburn's  attention  once  more  reverted 
to  him. 

"  Marcelly  air  pritty  enough,"  he  said,  still  spreading  his 
thin  fingers  to  the  blaze.  "  Thar  ain't  no  two  ways  'bout'n 
that.  I  reckon  a  man  mought  take  a  righteous  oath  ez  thar 
ain't  sech  another  lookin'  gal  in  the  Newnited  States  — but 
she  ain't  like  them  young  citified  Glastcn  gals,  v  hat  walks 
with  par'sols,  —  in  no  wise  like  them  ez  walks  with  par'sols," 
he  repeated  the  phrase  with  relish  of  its  aptness,  for  to  him  it 
expressed  the  totality  of  the  status.  "  An'  she  don't  know 
none  of  the  things  they  know.  Why  shucks  !  even  the  men- 
folks  in  the  mountings  air  a  thousand  million  o'  miles  away 
behind  the  times.  I  fund  that  out  through  jes'  goin'  ter  jail  in 
a  sure-enough  town.  I  reckon  they  would  fall  down  stunned 
ef  they  war  ter  see  a  three-story  house.  I  '11  be  bound  they 
would  be  plumb  afeard  ter  go  inside  o'  one,  thinkin'  bein' 
so  high  it  mought  fall  in  onto  'em  an'  mash  'em  tee-to 
tally  !  "  He  looked  up  half  laughing,  half  sneering  at  the 
thought  of  his  compatriots'  ignorance,  and  Rathburn's  face 
wore  a  responsive  gleam,  —  Jake  Baintree's  attitude  of 
superiority  expressed  so  definitely  how  relative  a  thing  is 
sophistication ! 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.   351 

"  The  folks  in  the  mountings  don't  know  nuthin'  scarcely," 
he  went  on,  evidently  bitten  by  that  tarantula  of  decrying 
the  home-keeping  things  which  besets  more  learned  travelers 
in  wider  circuits.  "  But  they  won't  b'lieve  that,  though. 
"Why,  even  me  —  T  useter  think  thar  war  n't  no  kentry  but 
Tennessee,  an'  No'th  Carliny,  an'  Georgy,  an'  sech.  It 
liked  ter  hev  knocked  me  down  whenst  that  man  ez  war  my 
cell-mate  in  Glaston  —  ye  'member,  he  hed  a  chronic  mis'ry 
in  his  throat  —  an'  bless  the  Lord,  he  showed  me  Ashy  an' 
Africky  an'  Europe  on  a  map  he  hed,  an'  1  could  n't  sleep 
none  that  night  —  the  news  liked  ter  hev  tuk  my  breath 
away ! " 

He  reached  behind  the  chair  to  the  woodpile,  lifted  a 
great  log  split  in  half,  and  flung  it  on  the  fire,  which  sent 
up  a  myriad  of  sparks  and  a  cloud  of  smoke,  and  then 
seemed  to  dwindle  in  discouragement  for  a  season,  only  now 
and  then  emitting  a  timorous  blue  or  yellow  flame  to  coil 
like  a  thong  around  the  bulk  of  the  wood,  disappearing  the 
next  moment  in  the  slowly  ascending  gray  wreaths  that  had 
usurped  the  place  of  the  dancing  blazes.  The  room  had 
grown  very  nearly  dark.  Rathburn  could  ill  distinguish  the 
crouching  figure,  with  its  elbows  on  its  knees,  seated  in  the 
rickety  chair  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  hearth.  It  seemed 
lighter  without  than  within.  He  could  see  through  the  rift 
in  the  batten  shutter  a  section  of  the  deeply  purple  sky 
athwart  which  the  leafless  twigs  of  a  bough  near  at  hand 
moved  fitfully,  fretted  by  the  wind.  Once  in  their  midst  a 
great  white  star  shone,  pulsating  in  some  splendid  ecstasy, 
and  then  the  clouds  surged  over  it  anew.  The  lush-like 
blaze  sprang  out  once  more  about  the  log,  and  he  caught 
Baintree's  eye,  still  illumined  with  a  jeering  laugh,  and  a 
twinkling  appreciation  of  the  incongruity  between  his  pres 
ent  fully-posted  estate  and  his  former  ignorance. 

"  Did  ye  see  Eli  ?  "  he  demanded  presently. 

Rathburn  nodded. 

"  Hev  he  got  sensible  agin  ?  "  asked  Baintree,  remember- 


352   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

ing  the  constable's  delirious  condition  when  they  visited  the 
house  together. 

"  He  talked  very  sensibly  indeed,  this  evening,"  the  physi 
cian  replied  evasively,  the  professional  punctilio  instantly 
on  the  alert,  "  especially  about  lynchers  and  law-breakers 
generally  —  sound  views." 

Baintree  became  suddenly  rigid. 

"Ye  war  n't  fool  enough,"  he  said,  sitting  stiffly  upright, 
"  ter  go  tellin'  Eli  Strobe,  the  offcer  o'  the  law,  'bout'n  them 
men  by  name  —  they  'd  hang  ye  fur  a  informer,  ef  they  lied 
nuthin'  else  agin  ye,  ef  enny  of  'em  fund  it  out." 

"  That  for  their  slip-knots  !  "  cried  Rathburn,  snapping  his 
fingers  and  laughing  in  gay  bravado.  "  I  'm  not  in  collu 
sion  with  'em,  an'  I  '11  do  nothing  to  protect  'em.  I  '11  give 
'em  away  every  time  !  " 

Baintree  visibly  winced  at  the  mere  idea  of  this  defiance. 
He  made  no  response  for  a  moment,  but  looked  doubtfully 
over  his  shoulder  at  the  broken  batten  shutter.  It  shivered 
and  shook  as  if  in  sympathy  with  his  glance. 

"  The  wind  is  harsh  ter-night,"  he  said  again. 

"  I  'm  through  with  this  skulking  and  hiding,"  said  Rath- 
burn,  the  superficial  composure  and  friendly  tone  that  he 
had  maintained  giving  way  suddenly.  "  I  '11  say  what  I 
mean,  and  what  I  think,  and  what  I  feel.  And  I  'm  going 
to  hire  twenty  —  fifty  hands  —  to  sink  shafts  in  both  those 
gorges  where  the  best  indications  are." 

Baintree  had  been  startled  by  his  sudden  change  of  tone, 
and  had  listened  with  relaxing  muscles  and  lips  parted. 
A  certain  hardening  took  possession  of  his  features  as  the 
final  words  fell  on  the  air.  A  covert  triumph,  a  definite  ap 
preciation  of  his  own  cleverness,  shone  in  his  eyes,  incongru 
ously  enough  with  the  mild  tenor  of  his  speech  as  he  said, 
"  Waal,  Eugene,  I  wish  ye  well  —  I  wish  ye  well !  Ye  an' 
me  hev  been  mighty  frien'ly  tergether  an'  I  hev  enjyed  yer 
comp'ny." 

Rathburn,  tilted  back  in  his  chair  with  his  hands  clasped 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.   353 

behind  his  head,  looked,  with  curling  lip  and  sarcastic,  glow 
ing  eye,  the  sneering  protest  that  it  was  futile  to  speak. 
Since  he  had  been  so  free  with  his  company  he  could  not 
logically  quarrel  with  Baintree  for  presuming  to  find  it 
agreeable. 

"  I  be  sorry  ye  hev  got  tired  o'  me.  I  ain't  ez  school- 
lamed  ez  ye,  though  I  ain't  like  a  ignorunt  mountaineer, 
nuther.  I  hev  larned  some  in  books,  an'  I  be  one  o'  them 
ez  kiri  larn  out'n  'em,  too.  Thar  's  a  heap  o'  things  I  know 
—  through  jes'  bein'  knowin'."  His  look  was  the  very  es 
sence  of  boastful  slyness  as  he  cast  his  eyes  up  obliquely  at 
the  flushing  face  of  the  young  townsman.  He  had  his  el 
bows  once  more  on  his  knees,  and  his  chin  in  his  long  bony 
hand,  and  his  drawl  was  not  as  distinct,  thus  hampered,  as 
it  might  have  been.  "  Eli  Strobe  hev  been  ter  Glaston  time 
I  war  tried,  likewise  Teck  Jepson.  They  never  larnt  thar 
what  I  larned  'bout  town  ways  ;  they  never  seen  thar 
what  I  seen  !  Though  Teck  Jepson  hev  got  sech  a  survi- 
grous  vision  ez  he  kin  view  the  prophets  o'  the  Lord  lopin' 
around  the  Big  Smoky  Mountings !  —  when  the  men  never 
war  out'n  Ashy  in  all  thar  born  days,  'ceptin'  they  hed  a 
sorter  stampin'-ground  o'  captivity  in  Egypt."  He  gave  the 
self-flattering  laugh  of  conscious  cleverness,  and  then  went 
on  with  that  manner  compounded  of  mock-humility  and  fra 
ternal  familiarity  which  had  become  so  offensive  to  Rathburn. 
"  But  I  ain't  ekal  ter  sech  ez  you-uns,  Eugene,  an'  I  don't 
wonder  none  ef  ye  hev  in  an'  about  hed  enough  o'  me.  I 
don't  wish  ye  nuthin'  but  well.  Mebbe  ye  mought  hire 
some  o'  them  men  ez  war  along  o'  Teck  Jepson  at  the  black 
smith's  barn  ter-night  ter  kem  an'  dig  an'  sink  shafts."  He 
rubbed  his  chin  in  pretended  cogitation  upon  ways  and 
means.  "  Folks  in  Brumsaidge  ain't  gin  over  ter  diggin' 
much  —  seems  ez  ef  it  in  an*  about  kills  'em  ter  hev  ter 
scratch  the  top  o'  the  ground  enough  with  thar  shallow 
plowin'  ter  put  in  the  leetle  bit  o'  corn  an'  sorghum  an' 
sech  ter  keep  the  life  in  'em.  But  mebbe  ef  ye  war  ter  hire 


354   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

'em,  they  would  be  cured  o'  thar  dad-burned  laziness,  an' 
would  jes'  jump  fur  jye  fur  the  pleasure  o'  diggin'  down 
sixty  or  sebenty  feet  in  the  hard  groun'.  They  would  git 
used  ter  giant-powder  an'  sech,  too,  arter  a  while  —  an' 
would  n't  'low  the  Devil  war  in  it." 

Eugene  Rathburn  was  chewing  the  end  of  his  mustache, 
now  and  then  pausing  with  his  white  teeth  set,  and  looking 
at  Baintree  with  antagonistic  eyes,  his  anger  held  in  bounds 
only  by  the  sense  of  being  at  a  disadvantage,  and  the  de 
moralizing  effect  of  sustaining  an  unrequitable  rebuff,  —  for 
Baintree's  sarcasm  admitted  of  no  successful  retort.  It  was 
merely  for  the  sake  of  going  through  the  motions  of  self- 
confidence  and  asserting  independence,  that  he  said  in  an 
off-hand  way,  "  Oh,  I  meant  laborers  from  Glaston  —  Irish 
ditchers ;  they  are  willing  to  dig,  I  fancy." 

Jake  Baintree  affected  to  receive  this  with  solemn  con 
sideration.  "  Yes,  sir !  They  fd  dig.  Useter  see  a  gang 
a-workin'  on  that  thar  new  railroad  —  whilst  lookin'  out'n 
the  jail  winder." 

It  seemed  a  wide  and  varied  expression  of  the  world  and 
of  life  that  that  jail  window  had  given  upon,  so  much  had 
the  crafty  observation  been  able  to  glean  therefrom. 

"  They  'd  'stonish  the  mounting  folks  !  Thar  ain't  no 
sech  dirt-slingers  nowhar.  But  'pears  like  ter  me,  Eugene, 
they  mought  be  sorter  expensive  —  ef  —  ef ,  ye  know  —  it  war 
ter  turn  out  ez  thar  war  rit  silver  in  payin'  quantities.  Ye 
know  bes',  Eugene,  what  with  yer  book-larnin',  yer  g'ology 
an'  sech,  an'  yer  leetle  assay  in'  consarns,  but  ez  fur  ez  I  kin 
jedge,  ye  air  powerful  welcome  ter  enny  min'ral  in  them 
two  gorges.  I  'm  willin'  ter  gin  ye  my  sheer !  "  He  had 
spoken  gravely,  but  suddenly  a  glancing  smile  lighted  up 
his  eyes  and  curved  his  lips  with  so  spontaneous  an  expres 
sion  of  malicious  enjoyment  that  it  seemed  in  his  rare  relish 
of  the  situation  his  will  had  lost  control  of  his  muscles.  He 
instantly  recovered  himself,  and  although  he  noted  the  fact 
that  Eugene  Rathburn,  quietly  looking  at  him,  had  marked 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.   355 

the  dropping  of  the  mask,  he  went  on  in  the  same  mock- 
fraternal  vein,  "  I  dunno  ez  I  be  hopeful  'bout'n  it,  Eugene 
—  but  I  wish  ye  well,  I  wish  ye  well,  Eugene." 

Rathburn  was  holding  his  every  muscle  in  a  sedulous 
placidity.  There  was  a  conscious,  intent,  exacting  calmness 
upon  his  face  and  in  his  voice. 

''  Baintree,"  he  said  slowly,  "  I  am  glad  I  slept  to-day. 
I  am  glad  I  have  my  nerves  abnormally  tinder  my  control. 
Otherwise  I  should  kill  you,  —  I  should  strike  you  dead 
where  you  are.  No  man  under  ordinary  circumstances 
could  resist  the  temptation." 

Baintree  cast  a  searching  glance  upon  him  ;  then  embold 
ened  by  his  quiescent  aspect,  he  sneered  as  he  laughed. 

"  Then  I  'm  glad,  too,  ye  slept.  Thanky  kindly,  sir  !  But 
I  hain't  slept  none.  An'  I  kno^y  ye  would  n't  'low  ez  I  war 
right  perlite  ef  I  war  ter  kill  ye  an'  take  yer  life,  kase  I 
hain't  lied  my  nap.  I'm  glad,  too  ;  I  never  s'picioned  afore 
how  much  inteuest  I  oughter  take  in  yer  sleepin'  sound  an' 
satisfactory." 

Rathburn  felt  the  blood  rush  to  his  temples,  and  he  heard 
his  hurrying  pulses  beat  surcharged  with  the  impetus  of 
rage.  He  did  not  stir.  He  still  sat  with  his  hands  clasped 
behind  his  head,  his  chair  tilted  on  the  hind  legs.  He 
looked  very  trim,  and  sinewy,  and  lithe  in  his  close-fitting 
blue  flannel  shirt  and  trousers,  with  the  well-shaped  high 
boots  coming  to  the  knee,  in  contrast  with  the  long  and  lean 
Baintree,  upon  whose  gaunt  frame  his  ill-made  brown  jeans 
hung  with  many  a  crease  and  wrinkle.  Beside  the  florid 
young  physician,  the  jail-bird  seemed  to  have  no  blood  in 
his  veins,  so  pallid  was  his  clearly-cut  face.  As  they  stead 
fastly  gazed  at  one  another,  the  comparison  might  have  in 
terested  a  third  party  looking  on  in  the  firelight,  now  richly 
aglow  once  more ;  but  they  were  alone  in  the  vastness  of 
the  Great  Smoky  Mountains,  the  slope  of  this  lofty  dome 
inhabited  by  naught  else  save  bear,  or  panther,  or  wolf. 
Only  the  mist  peered  in  at  the  rift  of  the  batten  shutter, 


356       THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE. 

white-faced,  and  wild,  and  disheveled,  fleeing  forever  before 
the  ousting  wind  that  made  the  timorous  silent  thing  a  va 
grant.  It  seemed  as  if  to  escape  the  antagonistic  element 
that  it  sought  to  enter  the  rift  in  the  shutter,  sending  in  a 
hesitating  wreath,  slow-stealing,  pausing  aghast  in  the  glow 
of  the  fire,  and  disappearing  in  the  instant. 

As  the  two  comrades  faced  each  other  it  was  hard  to  say 
which  had  the  advantage,  the  clever  man  with  the  aid  of  cul 
ture,  or  the  clever  man  so  clever  despite  the  lack  of  culture. 

Baintree's  insidious  sarcasms,  with  their  ever-ready  thrust, 
had  acquired  an  edge  from  the  attrition  with  his  malicious 
mirth.  And  Rathburn  found  that  his  seriousness  weighted 
his  anger  and,  since  he  would  not  sanction  its  outburst, 
made  his  defense  clumsy. 

"  I  don't  understand  you,  Jake,"  he  said  at  last  in  a  mol 
lifying  tone,  —  "  to  save  my  life  I  can't  understand  you. 
You  go  fooling  me  along  with  a  bait  of  rich  float  from 
month  to  month  pretending  to  show  me  where  you  found  it. 
And  when  I  tell  you  that  it  is  impossible  that  you  could 
have  found  it  here,  and  there,  and  elsewhere,  because  the 
formation  proves  you  a  liar,  you  make  out  all  at  once  that 
you  were  mistaken,  and  we  plod  about,  and  you  affect  to 
recognize  other  landmarks,  and  so  we  have  the  whole  tom 
foolery  over  again.  If  you  were  half  as  smart  as  you  think 
you  are,  you  would  realize  that  you  can't  light  hap-hazard 
on  any  similar  rich  spot  —  you  have  got  to  go  where  you 
found  that  piece  of  float,  and  follow  it  up  or  dig  there." 

"  Laws-a-massy,  Eugene,"  said  Baintree,  adopting  in 
turn  a  more  pacific  tone,  and  holding  out  both  empty  hands 
with  the  palms  upward  as  if  to  express  a  vacuity  of  unwor 
thy  intention,  "  don't  I  try  an'  try  ter  find  the  percise  spot, 
an'  ef  I  fool  ye  don't  I  fool  myse'f  too  ?  'T  war  toler'ble 
long  ago  whenst  I  fund  that  rock,  an'  the  Big  Smoky 
Mountings  seem  sorter  roomy  whenst  ye  take  ter  huntin' 
fur  one  percise  leetle  yard  medjure  o'  groun',  whar  a  boy 
five  year  ago  picked  up  a  rock." 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.   357 

Somehow  as  he  became  less  acrid  the  temper  of  the  other 
waxed  stronger,  feeling  the  opposition  lessen.  With  this 
spirit  encroaching  upon  his  self-control  Rathburn  said  sud 
denly,  "  I  don't  believe  one  word  of  it.  You  know  the  spot 
well  enough.  You  are  afraid  to  go  to  it." 

Baintree,  whose  attitude  remained  unchanged,  barely 
having  had  time  to  shift  to  a  defiant  sneer  the  deprecating 
earnest  look  he  had  worn,  seemed  petrified  for  one  moment 
as  he  sat  still  holding  out  his  hands,  his  laugh  rigid  on  his 
startled  face. 

"  'Fraid !  "  he  echoed,  glancing  over  his  shoulder  at  the 
spectral  mists  that  came  in  at  the  crevice  in  the  shutter  and 
paused  at  the  sight  of  the  fire,  and  shivered  into  invisibil 
ity.  "'Fraid!" 

Suddenly  the  rain  came  down  on  the  roof  with  a  thou 
sand  tentative  touches  upon  the  clapboards,  as  if  to  try  their 
sonorous  capacities,  and  elicit  what  element  of  melody  so 
unpromising  an  instrument  might  add  to  the  music  of  the 
storm.  Through  its  iterative  staccato  beat  might  be  heard 
the  blended,  un individualized  fall  of  the  floods  in  the  dis 
tance,  a  low,  mellow  resonance.  A  chill  blast  came  in  un 
der  the  door.  The  chimney  piped.  The  pallid  mists  were 
torn  from  the  rift  in  the  shutter,  and  one  could  see  upon  the 
black  and  limited  space  of  darkness  without  certain  fine 
gray  palpitating  lines  of  rain,  close  at  hand,  continuously 
shifting,  but  never  ceasing  nor  breaking  into  drops. 

"  I  believe,"  continued  Rathburn,  "  that  the  silver  is  at 
the  spot  where  you  ki  —  where  that  man  Samuel  Keale  lost 
his  life."  He  did  not  fail  to  note  that  Baintree  winced  at 
the  name.  "  And  you  are  afraid  to  go  there,  and  —  igno 
rant  fool  that  you  are  !  —  you  think  because  silver  is  there, 
it  is  anywhere  else,  and  if  we  dig  hard  enough  we  will  find 
it  somewhere  in  the  mountains." 

Baintree  said  nothing.  He  sat  moistening  his  thin  dry 
lips  with  the  tip  of  his  tongue,  and  looking  at  Rathburn 
with  eyes  small,  bright,  and  with  an  expression  that  re- 


358   THE  DESPOT  OF  BHOOUSEDGE  COVE. 

minded  him  of  the  eyes  of  a  rat  in  a  trap,  timorous,  fur 
tive,  and  bespeaking  mercy  that  it  did  not  hope  to  receive. 

"  Where  is  that  cave  ?  Tell  me  that,"  urged  Rathburn, 
all  his  eager  desire  for  the  hidden  treasure  goading  him 
anew  with  the  recollection  of  how  long  he  had  been  forced 
to  dally  upon  the  verge  of  an  opulent  discovery. 

"  Where  is  that  cave  ?  "  he  demanded.  He  was  fain  to 
raise  his  voice  to  be  heard  above  the  din  of  the  elements, 
and  the  commanding  tones  added  to,,  the  sense  of  power  that 
possessed  him  more  and  more  as  Baintree's  confidence  col 
lapsed.  "  I  don't  ask  you  to  tell  me  where  the  float  was 
found  —  simply  where  is  that  cave  ?  " 

Still  Baintree  met  his  eye  like  a  caged  and  helpless  thing. 
He  nevertheless  had  something  in  his  power,  —  to  be 
speechless ;  and  as  Rathburn  perceived  a  resolution  in  his 
dumbness  he  persisted  more  vehemently. 

"Tell  me  !  Tell  me  !  Then,  if  you  won't,  Teck  Jepson 
will  be  ready  enough  to  tell  me  where  he  found  the  man's 
coat  and  hat,  and  I  suppose  the  cave  can't  be  far  away  in 
the  gorge.  I  shall  find  it  —  I  shall  find  it  —  I  shall  never 
cease  to  search  until "  — 

As  he  spoke  he  caught  a  glint  of  triumph  in  Baintree's 
eyes.  He  realized  how  far  afield  his  hopes  had  carried 
him,  that  long  and  devious  distances  lay  between  the  spot 
to  which  he  might  be  guided  and  the  spot  he  sought. 

With  a  sudden  savage  cry  and  the  agility  of  a  panther 
he  flung  himself  upon  the  man  at  the  fireside  and  grappled 
at  his  throat. 

"  Tell  me  !  "  he  ground  out  between  his  set  teeth.  "  Tell 
me!  " 

A  hoarse,  half-strangled,  intermittent  scream  for  help 
filled  the  log-cabin,  and  penetrated  to  the  stormy  voids  of 
the  wilderness  without.  How  vain  !  The  heedless  rain 
beat  upon  the  roof.  The  unrecking  wind  passed  by.  They 
were  alone  in  the  lofty  fastnesses  of  the  mountains,  and 
one  was  at  the  mercy  of  the  other.  Eugene  Rathburn  had 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       359 

never  thought  to  put  his  knowledge  of  the  mechanism  of 
the  human  throat  to  such  uses,  but  the  mountaineer's  supe 
rior  strength  had  enabled  him  only  to  rise  and  to  writhe 
helplessly  upon  the  verge  of  strangulation,  under  the  scien 
tific  pressure  of  those  fine  and  slender  hands  upon  his  bare 
throat,  practically  demonstrating  how  nearly  a  man  may  be 
choked  and  still  live.  For  now  and  again  their  grasp  re 
laxed,  not  to  permit  that  hoarse,  futile  cry  which  twice  and 
thrice  ensued,  but  as  the  essential  means  of  an  answer  to 
the  question,  — 

"  Tell  me,  where  did  you  find  it  ?  " 

Baintree,  taken  by  surprise,  his  eyes  starting  out  of  his 
head,  his  face  almost  purple,  both  unnerved  hands  grasping 
Rathburn's  lifted  arms,  seemed  in  these  intervals,  in  catch 
ing  his  breath,  to  regain  a  modicum  of  his  faculties.  He 
ceased  his  instinctive  efforts  to  tear  away  the  strong  clutch 
at  his  throat.  He  swiftly  passed  his  arms  around  the  waist 
of  his  assailant,  and  with  a  sudden  wrench  sought  to  fling 
him  to  the  floor.  But  the  lithe  Rathburn  kept  his  feet,  and 
the  two  went  staggering  together  across  the  room ;  crashing 
over  the  chairs  ;  dragging  the  saddle  that  lay  on  the  floor 
under  their  clumsy,  stumbling  steps,  the  stirrup-irons  clatter 
ing  on  the  puncheons  ;  now  swaying  this  way  and  now  that ; 
overturning  the  table,  with  its  scanty  store  of  crockery  break 
ing  unheeded  on  the  hearthstone.  The  red  firelight,  sole 
witness  of  the  strife,  flickered  bravely  on  the  brown  walls  ; 
the  green  wood,  with  the  sap  still  in  the  fibres,  sang  a  mel 
low  elfin  song,  fine  and  faint,  all  unheard.  Their  shadows 
had  loct  the  pacific  habit  of  many  evenings  of  fraternal  com- 
munings  when  the  silhouettes  smoked  many  a  pipe  in  Bar- 
mecidal  fashion,  and  drank  together  in  dumb  show,  and 
imitated  their  hilarious,  genial,  and  hopeful  gestures.  Now, 
adopting  their  example  anew,  they  reeled  furiously  after  them 
as  they  went. 

Baintree's  vise-like  grip  failed  when  the  pressure  on  his 
throat  was  renewed ;  the  strength  of  the  convulsive  struggle, 


360        THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE. 

in  which  all  his  unconscious  physical  forces  were  asserted, 
proved  futile.  There  was  a  different  expression  in  his 
bulging  eyes  —  he  was  beginning  to  believe  that  the  reply 
to  the  question  was  the  price  of  his  life.  Perhaps  Rath- 
burn  noticed  and  interpreted  the  sign  of  subduement.  The 
pressure  of  the  deft  fingers  relaxed  again. 

"  Where  did  you  find  the  float  —  tell  me  !  "  he  reiterated. 

"  I  lever  fund  it,"  Baintree  gasped.  The  fingers  tight 
ened  on  his  throat,  then  loosened,  for  he  was  about  to  speak 
again.  "  Sam'l  Keale  fund  it." 

"  Where  —  where  ?  "  demanded  Rathburn,  his  teeth  set 
hard  and  his  breath  fluttering. 

"  I  dunno,"  gasped  the  victim,  —  "  he  would  n't  never  tell 
me!" 

"  You  killed  him  for  that  ?  "  Rathburn  ask*:d  swiftly  — 
suddenly  his  fingers  began  to  tremble.  Had  he  too  been 
tempted  to  this  hideous  crime  through  the  lure  of  that  bit  of 
float  ?  "  What  ever  became  of  him  ?  " 

He  asked  this  question  less  with  the  desire  of  response 
than  with  an  instinctive  effort  to  elude  even  to  his  own  con 
science  the  tracing  of  so  repulsive  a  parallel.  But  Baintree 
could  not  divine  his  train  of  thought  nor  that  aught  had 
served  to  weaken  that  clutch  upon  his  throat  save  the  wish  to 
facilitate  reply.  He  was  in  momentary  expectation  of  its 
renewal.  He  had  yielded  and  yielded  utterly. 

"  I  never  knowed,"  he  sputtered,  —  "  ez  the  Lord  air  my 
witness  I  never  knowed.  He  jes'  disappeared  one  day,  an' 
I  traced  his  steps  ter  the  mouth  o'  a  cave,  —  thar  hed  been 
a  rain,  —  an'  I  never  seen  him  agin." 

"  Was  the  cave  where  Jepson  found  his  hat  and  coat  ?  " 
Rathburn  demanded. 

"  Naw  !  "  exclaimed  Baintree,  his  eyes  growing  suddenly 
intent  with  anger.  "  Naw  !  Ef  I  hed  knowed  at  the  trial 
ez  Teck  Jepson  war  a-goin'  ter  find  them  old  clothes  in  the 
gorge,  an'  make  sech  a  power  o'  a  'miration  over  'em  arter 
ward  at  the  baptizin',  I  'd  hev  tole  whar  the  cave  war  sure 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.   361 

enough  whenst  they  put  me  on  the  stand.  An'  Teck  Jep- 
son  would  n't  hev  liked  that  so  mighty  well,  I  reckon,  kase 
all  the  kentry  knowed  ez  him  an'  Sam'l  war  at  logger 
heads." 

••  Why  ?  —  what  would  Jepson  have  cared  ?  "  cried  Rath- 
burn. 

It  was  only  because  of  the  revived  interest  of  the  moment 
that  his  muscles  grew  tense,  but  his  grasp  had  the  intima 
tion  of  coercion  to  Baintree,  who  instantly  responded,  with  a 
nod  of  the  head,  — 

kt  Kase  the  cave 's  on  his  land  —  in  Teck  Jepson's  woods. 
That 's  why  !  An'  folks  war  powerful  worked  up  an'  ex 
cited  then,  an'  mought  hev  s'picioned  him." 

Rathburn's  hands  fell  from  Baintree's  throat  to  his  shoul 
ders.  u  Jake,"  he  said,  amazed,  his  voice  bated  with  uncer 
tainty  and  excitement,  "  why  did  you  never  tell  this  before, 
if  you  had  no  hand  in  Keale's  death  ?  " 

"  What  did  I  want  ter  tell  fur  ?  How  'd  I  know  what  ter 
tell  an'  what  not  ter  tell?  Nobody  knowed  how  nut-bin' 
would  strike  the  jury  —  not  even  the  lawyer.  An'  I  'lowed 
ef  they  fund  Sam'l  thar,"  —  he  shivered  a  little  at  the  sug 
gestion,  —  '•  he  'd  hev  looked  turrible,  mebbe,  an'  hev  bed  his 
bones  bruk  —  an'  that  would  hev  made  it  all  go  harsher  at 
the  trial.  Ev'rybody  knowed  he  had  been  consortin'  with 
me,  a-sarchin'  fur  silver,  an'  war  seen  las'  along  o'  me.  So 
I  jes'  purtended  I  could  n't  find  the  spot  agin,  an'  the  steps 
ez  led  ter  the  cave  ;  it  bed  rained  mo',  an'  the  groun'  war 
washed  up  cornsider'ble.  An'  they  all  'lowed  't  war  up  in 
the  gorge  whar  them  clothes  war  fund.  Why  n't  I  tell,  an* 
why  n't  I  tell  ?  "  he  reiterated.  "  I  be  sorry  now  I  hev  tole 
what  I  hev  tole." 

He  cast  his  anxious  eyes  absently  about  the  room  with 
a  harried,  hunted  look.  Evidently  the  disclosure  he  had 
made  was  of  paramount  importance  to  him,  and  precluded 
for  the  moment  consideration  or  realization  of  the  coercion 
which  had  elicited  it. 


362   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

"  That 's  of  no  importance  — you  could  n't  be  tried  again 
for  the  same  offense,"  said  Rathburn  reassuringly. 

"  Waal  —  that  rule  don't  hold  good  in  Jedge  Lynch's 
court,"  returned  Baintree  gloomily. 

Rathburn  walked  away  a  few  steps  with  his  hands  in  his 
pockets.  It  was  difficult  to  assume  a  casual  air  after  the 
episode  of  the  evening,  but  his  efforts  were  aided  by  Bain- 
tree's  fixed  attention  upon  the  engrossing  subject  of  Keale's 
disappearance  rather  than  his  recent  injuries. 

He  stopped  short  suddenly.  "  Thought  you  and  he  were 
scuffling  and  playing  when  he  fell  into  the  chasm  ?  "  He 
looked  at  Baintree  with  a  revival  of  suspicion. 

"  I  'lowed  that  whenst  I  war  confused  an'  did  n't  know 
what  ter  say,"  replied  Baintree.  "We  war  n't  playin'  nor 
nuthin'.  He  lef '  me  a-diggin'  in  the  gorge  —  an'  lef '  his 
hat  an'  coat  thar  —  an'  'lowed  he  war  a-goin'  ter  a  spot  ter 
peck  at  the  rocks  a  leetle  furder  down  ;  an'  I  waited  an' 
waited,  —  I  waited  a  week  fur  him,  whenst  I  fund  his  track 
ter  the  cave  —  'feard  ter  go  home.  He  ain't  kem  yit." 

Rathburn  sank  down  into  his  chair  beside  the  fire  with  a 
dazed,  baffled  sense  of  loss.  He  was  trembling  with  excite 
ment,  and  exhausted  by  the  struggle.  His  eyes  were  fixed, 
unseeing,  on  the  fire,  and  he  panted  heavily  as  he  drew  out 
his  handkerchief  and  passed  it  over  his  forehead. 

"  Why  did  n't  you  tell  me  before  that  it  was  he  who  found 
the  float ;  that  you  did  n't  know  where  in  this  big,  thrice- 
accursed  wilderness  it  came  from  ?  " 

"  Kase  I  war  'feard  ye  would  n't  'low  't  war  wuth  while 
ter  sarch,  then,"  responded  Baintree,  with  the  promptitude 
of  the  instinct  of  self-defense.  "  I  'lowed  ef  Sam'l  Keale, 
knowin'  the  leetle  he  did  'bout  min'ral,  could  find  sech  ez 
that,  ye  with  all  yer  book-larnin'  could.  What 's  the  good 
o'  yer  g'ology,  an'  all  yer  other  gear,  ef  ye  can't  ?  " 

"I  can't  find  silver  if  it  isn't  in  the  rock,"  returned 
Rathburn.  This  was  not  said  in  the  tone  of  a  retort.  A  gnaw 
ing  sense  of  shame,  a  burning  self-reproach,  had  the  ascend- 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.   363 

ancy  in  his  consciousness,  —  even  the  vanishing  prospects 
of  wealth,  diminishing  gradually  in  the  far  perspective  of 
probability,  were  secondary  for  the  time.  He  could  not  jus 
tify  his  deed  —  he  blushed  for  his  motives.  He  felt  in  this 
cooler  moment  of  reflection  as  if  he  had  suffered  some 
metamorphosis  —  some  translation  into  another  sordid  en 
tity,  whose  every  impulse  was  followed  by  an  anguish  of  re 
morse.  He  gazed  down  at  his  hands,  still  red  and  smart 
ing  with  the  strain  to  which  he  had  subjected  them,  as  if  he 
could  hardly  endure  to  acknowledge  them  after  the  work 
which  they  had  done  for  him  so  well  and  cleverly.  His  lids 
drooped  a  little  as  he  looked  up  at  Baintree,  and  he  eva 
sively  glanced  hastily  away. 

"  Jake,"  he  said  in  an  embarrassed  and  husky  tone,  — 
the  mountaineer  had  seated  himself  opposite  and  was  un 
winding  a  large  handkerchief  which  he  had  worn  around 
his  throat,  the  folds,  as  they  fell,  showing  the  bruised  and 
swollen  flesh,  —  "I  am  sorry  I  got  to  quarreling  with  you. 
I  don't  know  what  in  the  world  made  me  do  it." 

Baintree  paused  in  unrolling  his  neck-gear,  and  glanced 
keenly  at  the  troubled  and  downcast  face. 

"  I  dunno  what  made  ye  do  it,  nuther.  I  be  sorry,  too. 
1  hev  got  reason  ter  be.  An'  if  ye  call  it  quarTin' — it's 
toler'ble  survigrous  quar'lin',  I  will  say." 

The  flames  in  the  chimney  cowered  as  the  wind  swept 
down,  and  crouched  like  a  beaten  thing.  The  smoke  puffed 
into  the  room.  The  gusts  had  a  wild,  insurgent,  menacing 
note.  The  batten  shutter  rattled.  The  rain  redoubled  its 
force  upon  the  roof.  The  place  seemed  infinitely  solitary, 
and  distant,  and  forlorn. 

"  I  wish  I  had  never  heard  of  the  silver.  I  wish  I  had 
let  it  alone,"  said  Rathburn,  from  out  his  moody  reflections. 

"  That  ain't  goin'  ter  do  ye  no  good,"  declared  Baintree 
suddenly.  "  Ye  '11  go  right  back  ter  it,  same  ez  a  frog  ter 
water.  Them  ez  hanker  arter  it  hev  got  the  love  of  it 
rooted  in  'em.  Hey,  Lord  !  I  'lowed  wunst  ez  I  hed  enough 


364   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

o'  it.  I  'lowed  thar  war  a  everlastin'  curse  on  it.  Arter 
Sam'l  Keale,  he  jes'  vamosed  like  he  done,  an'  they  'rested 
me,  an'  I  hed  ter  go  ter  jail  an'  be  tried  fur  my  life  —  an' 
paid  everything  I  hed  in  the  world,  even  my  gun,  an'  my 
pistol,  ter  the  lawyer,  fur  defendin'  me  —  I  'lowed  't  war 
kase  I  hed  hankered  arter  the  silver  ez  the  Lord  hid  away 
in  the  hills.  An'  I  did  n't  keer  no  mo'  fur  it  then.  Not 
even  whenst  ye  kem  ter  physic  me,  an'  seen  that  piece  o' 
float  I  hed  kerried  jes'  by  accident  in  my  pocket.  Not  even 
whenst  ye  'peared  so  streck  of  a  heap,  an'  kep'  sayin'  how 
rich,  —  how  rich  't  war.  Naw,  sir  !  An'  whenst  I  kem 
home,  I  tuk  conrsider'ble  pains  ter  git  religion.  I  'lowed  I 
war  n't  goin'  ter  gin  the  Lord  no  mo'  excuse  fur  goin'  back 
on  me.  I  got  religion  an'  sot  out  ter  save  my  soul.  I  hed  hed 
enough  o'  sarchin'  arter  silver  an'  hevin'  nuthin'  ter  kem  o' 
it,  so  I  hed  sot  out  a-sarchin'  arter  salvation.  I  wanted  ter 
find  suthin'  this  time  !  I  wanted  ter  be  a  prosperous  saint 
o'  the  Lord,  an'  what  with  knowin'  how  ter  read  an'  write,  I 
mought  git  'lected  ter  office  some  day,  ef  I  stood  well  in  the 
church.  Could  n't  find  salvation,  nuther !  This  hyar  Teck 
Jepson  kem  a-pouncin'  down  on  me  at  the  very  water's 
aidge,  whenst  I  war  a-goin'  ter  be  baptized  an'  wash  my 
sins  away,  an'  git  the  right  sperit  ter  lead  my  feet  ter 
heaven,  an'  he  war  a-totin'  Sam'l's  old  gyarments  what  I  hid 
ter  be  rid  of  'em,  an'  Pa'son  renounced  me.  So  now  I  hev 
got  ter  go  ter  hell  —  but  hevin'  lived  sech  a  life  in  Brum- 
saidge  ez  hev  been  my  sheer,  I  reckon  't  won't  be  secb  a 
turr'ble  change  ez  most  folks  find  it." 

"Come,  Jake,  you  don't  have  to  be  baptized  to  go  to 
heaven  !  "  exclaimed  Rathburn.  He  was  looking  at  his 
fireside  companion  with, an  anxious  commiseration  upon  his 
deprecatory,  flushed  face,  despite  the  laugh  that  fluctuated 
over  it. 

But  the  rustic,  however  he  may  be  awakened  to  a  sense 
of  his  ignorance  of  mundane  matters,  stoutly  maintains  all 
the  arrogations  of  a  spiritual  adept.  The  mountaineer 
sneered  the  theological  proposition  scornfully  away. 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE,   365 

"  Ye  dunno  nuthin'  'bout'n  it  —  I  hev  hearn  ye  say  things 
ez  makes  me  'low  ye  ain't  haffen  a  b'liever ;  ye  'pear  ter 
sense  religious  things  mighty  porely  !  Ef  ye  read  the  Bible 
mo',  an'  yer  g'ology  an'  min'rology,  ez  ye  call  'em,  less, 
ye  'd  be  mo'  able  ter  entertain  the  sperit,  ef  ye  ever  war 
ter  hev  a  chance." 

As  he  shook  his  head  drearily  over  the  fire,  the  sombre 
reflections  evoked  by  his  review  of  his  forlorn,  distraught 
fate  imprinted  on  his  pallid,  clear-cut  face,  his  throat  mo 
mentarily  showing  more  definitely  the  marks  of  the  fingers 
that  had  clutched  it,  his  poverty,  and  its  concomitant  hope 
lessness,  despite  his  native  cleverness,  expressed  in  his  rough 
jeans  clothes,  and  his  broken  boots,  and  his  bent  old  hat, 
Rathburn's  heart  smote  him  anew. 

"  Jake,"  he  said,  an  insistent  inward  monitor  clamoring 
against  him,  "  you  don't  know  how  sorry  I  am  that  I  was 
so  —  so  harsh."  He  adopted  in  his  uncertainty  a  word 
that  Baintree  often  used  ;  it  expressed  for  him  many  phases 
of  the  physical  and  temporal  world.  "  You  don't  know 
how  badly  I  feel  about  it.  ' 

"  Waal,"  said  Baintree,  carefully  abstaining  from  any  in 
timation  of  being  appeased,  although  he  made  no  definite 
sign  of  resentment.  "  I  feel  toler'ble  bad  myse'f."  He 
touched  his  throat  with  a  gingerly  gesture,  as  he  rearranged 
his  neck-gear.  It  appealed  to  Rathburn  with  all  the  power 
that  the  sight  of  physical  injury,  however  slight,  exerted 
upon  him.  He  could  without  compunction  have  lacerated 
his  fellow-creature's  sentiments,  but  for  his  cuticle  he  had  a 
humane  professional  regard,  and  remorse  found  him  an  easy 
prey. 

"  I  'd  give  a  hundred  dollars  if  I  had  n't  done  it,"  he  said. 

"Waal  —  I  would  n't,"  Baintree  protested,  with  mock 
earnestness,  "  kase  I  never  hed  a  hunderd  dollars  in  ah1  my 
life  ter  give,"  he  added  dryly. 

Rathburn  turned  aside,  clearing  his  throat  with  a  sound 
that  was  much  like  a  stifled  oroan. 


366       THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOVSEDfJE   COVE. 

There  was  silence  for  some  moments  between  them.  The 
rain  splashed  ceaselessly  into  the  gullies  below  the  eaves. 
The  roof  leaked  in  more  than  one  place,  and  now  and  then 
a  solemn,  intrusive  series  of  drops  fell  upon  the  floor,  with 
a  deliberate  iteration  of  chilly  intimations.  Once  Rathburn 
thought  he  heard  a  wolf  howl  at  no  great  distance,  and  then 
doubted  if  it  were  not  the  wind  sounding  a  new  and  savage 
pipe. 

He  began  to  fancy  that  Baintree,  relishing  his  contrition, 
was  disposed  to  make  the  most  of  it,  and  give  him  as 
much  to  be  sorry  for  as  his  capacity  for  repentance  could 
accommodate.  But  he  strove  to  banish  this  caviling  mood, 
incongruous  with  the  injury  he  had  done,  and  the  regret 
and  humiliation  that  it  had  entailed.  His  perceptions,  how 
ever,  could  not  be  denied  the  prominent  lugubriousness  of 
Baintree's  mien,  albeit  his  mental  faculties  were  interdicted 
any  deductions  therefrom. 

Baintree's  voice  had  a  latent  reproach  in  its  very  tones  as 
lie  resumed :  — 

"  An'  then  whenst  I  war  a-tryin'  ter  git  over  that  back 
set  —  findin'  out  thar  war  n't  no  mo'  room  fur  me  in  heaven 
than  thar  war  on  y earth — up  ye  hed  ter  pop,  like  a  devil 
out'n  a  bush,  a-goin'  ter  sarch  in  the  mountings  fur  silver, 
sech  ez  that  float  ez  I  hed.  An'  ye  got  me  set  ter  honin' 
an'  hankerin'  arter  silver  an'  sech  —  whenst  I  mought  hev 
knowed  ez  Satan  war  in  it,  through  Sam'l's  takin'  off  bein' 
so  durned  cur'ous."  He  rubbed  his  hands  silently  for  a  few 
minutes  as  he  looked  at  the  fire.  "  That  war  the  reason  I 
tuk  ye  ter  Jepson's  old  cabin  ter  bide  a-fust  —  I  'lowed  ye 
mought  find  sech  float  'mongst  them  steep  ledges  an'  rocky 
slopes." 

Rathburn  looked  up  at  him  with  an  alert  and  kindling 
eye.  His  sense  of  humiliation,  his  troubled  conscience, 
were  forgotten  in  an  instant.  "  We  never  went  near  the 
cave !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  That  was  where  the  fellow  was 
going.  That  is  where  you  tracked  his  steps,  Jake."  He 


THE   DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.         307 

rose  to  his  feet  and  leaned  over  and  clapped  his  comrade  on 
the  shoulder.  "  We  '11  find  it  yet.  There  's  the  ore.  We  '11 
explore  the  cave  !  " 

The  color  had  flared  into  his  face ;  his  lips  curved  hope 
fully  under  his  yellow  mustache ;  his  hand  stroked  it  with 
his  wonted  alert,  confident  gesture. 

The  mountaineer  looked  up  at  him  with  a  face  cadaver 
ous  in  its  extreme  pallor  and  the  elongation  of  all  its  traits. 
His  remonstrant  eyes  had  a  presage  of  hopeless  defeat  in  the 
midst  of  their  anxious  entreaty. 

"  That  won't  do,  Eugene,"  he  said,  in  palpitating  eager 
ness.  "  Laws-a-massy,  boy,  we  can't  go  rummagin'  round  a 
dead  man's  bones  fur  silver !  " 

He  seemed  to  take  note  of  the  unmoved  resolution  in 
Rathburn's  expression.  In  his  despair  and  fear  he  sought  to 
assume  a  casual  air  of  confidence  which  might  impose  upon 
his  companion,  however  little  root  it  had  in  fact. 

"But  shucks!  ye  wouldn't  dare  to  go  a  mcddlin' round 
dead  folks.  Ye  know  ye  be  afeard  o'  'em !  " 

"  I?  "  exclaimed  Rathburn,  glancing  down  at  him  with  a 
bantering  smile,  "  I  ?  —  afraid  of  dead  men's  bones  ?  " 

Still  looking  up  into  his  flushed,  handsome,  triumphant 
face,  full  of  life,  and  light,  and  spirit,  Baintree  quailed.  For 
did  he  not  remember,  so  late  though  it  was,  his  coadjutor's 
profession  ?  And  had  he  not  once  seen,  in  the  backroom  of 
Rathburn's  office,  a  bleached  white  skull  that  the  young 
physician  considered  a  beautiful  thing?  The  sight  was  re 
newed  to  Baintree's  recollection  with  the  vivid  dread  of  a 
nightmare.  He  felt  a  suffocating  pressure  upon  his  chest. 
A  hoarse,  wheezing,  half-smothered  unconscious  cry  broke 
from  his  lips. 

"  Why,  Jake  !  "  Rathburn  began,  in  a  cheerful,  rallying, 
reassuring  tone ;  but  the  mountaineer  had  started  to  his  feet, 
and  the  impetuous  torrent  of  words  would  not  be  stopped. 

"  Ye  air  puttin'  a  rope  round  my  neck  !  Ye  —  knowin' 
the  Brumsaidge  boys  like  ye  do !  Ef  they  war  ter  find  his 


368   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

bones  —  ye  know,  ye  know  what  would  happen!  O  God 
A'mighty  !  "  He  struck  his  long,  lean  hands  together  as 
he  held  them  above  his  head.  "  An'  ye  'd  do  it !  Ye  'd 
put  a  rope  round  my  neck  fur  the  bare  chance,  the  bare 
chance  o'  findin'  the  silver  !  O  Lord  !  I  hev  been  gin  over 
—  plumb  gin  over  !  What  ailed  me,"  he  went  on,  in  fran 
tic  self-reproach,  —  "  what  ailed  me  ter  tell  the  true  place, 
many  a  lie  ez  I  hev  tole  ?  Even  the  Devil  fursook  me,  — 
never  whispered  me  nare  lie  ter  tell  this  time,  —  this  time, 
when  a  lie  would  hev  saved  my  life  !  What  ailed  me  ter 
tell  the  place  —  the  place  "  — 

"  Oh  Jake,  stop  —  hush  !  "  exclaimed  Rathburn,  irritably. 

"  Oh,  I  never  lowed  ez  ye  'd  sarch  that  spot  —  ez  ye  'd 
put  me  in  danger  —  the  man  ez  gin  ye  all  the  chance  ye 
ever  hed  "  — 

"  Mighty  good  chance  !  "  sneered  Rathburn,  losing  pa 
tience.  "  A  piece  of  float  that  another  fellow  found,  God 
knows  where,  —  stop  that  racket,  Jake  !  " 

"  Stop  !  "  cried  the  mountaineer,  still  clasping  and  unclasp 
ing  his  hands  above  his  head  as  he  moved  convulsively  about 
the  floor.  "  Why  n't  ye  ax  that  thar  worm  in  the  fire,"  — 
he  pointed  his  quivering  hand  at  a  wretched,  writhing  thing 
that  the  heat  had  summoned  from  its  nest  in  the  rotten  heart 
of  the  log  forth  into  the  midst  of  the  flames,  to  turn  hither 
and  thither  in  a  futile  frenzy  until  consumed,  —  "  why  n't 
ye  ax  that  worm  ter  stop  ?  " 

"  Go  on,  then,  and  have  a  fit,"  said  Rathburn  coolly,  "  or 
work  yourself  into  a  fever."  He  pointed  to  a  small  medi 
cine-chest.  "Shan't  cost  you  anything,  —  got  that  advan 
tage  over  the  worm." 

His  ridicule  and  his  assumption  of  indifference  were  salu 
tary.  Baintree  paused,  looking  restlessly  about  for  a  mo 
ment,  then  he  returned  to  the  hearth,  shoving  his  chair  with 
his  knee  back  into  the  corner  where  he  had  sat  before.  His 
fear  was  not  allayed,  however,  nor  his  sense  of  injury  as 
suaged. 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       369 

"  Oh,  ye  air  a  mighty  aggervatin'  cuss,  Eugene  Rath- 
burn  !  "  he  declared,  lowering  hopelessly  at  him  across  the 
hearth.  "  Ef  I  lied  lived  the  life  other  men  do,  an'  hed  lied 
my  sheer  o'  the  good  luck  other  folks  gits,  I  'd  hev  too  much 
sperit  ter  let  ye  kerry  things  like  ye  do.  I  'd  kill  ye  afore 
I  'd  let  ye  harm  me  !  " 

"  I  ain't  going  to  harm  you,"  said  Rathburn  casually. 
He  did  not  even  remember  his  clutch  on  his  comrade's 
throat. 

"  Ef  I  hed  n't  been  through  with  jes'  what  I  hev  been 
through  with,  ye  would  n't  treat  me  so.  Ye  would  n't  dare 
treat  another  man  —  Teck  Jepson,  say  —  this-a-way." 

"  Now  I  'm  not  afraid  of  Teck  Jepson  ;  you  can  bet  high 
on  that,"  Rathburn  protested,  with  a  sudden  flush.  "  You 
are  such  a  fool,  Jake,  though  you  think  yourself  very  smart 
indeed,  that  you  make  all  sorts  of  mistakes,  and  you  want 
me  to  make  them,  too.  You  ought  never  to  have  said  that 
the  man  fell  into  a  cave  or  chasm  —  for  you  don't  know  it." 
That  continually  recurrent  doubt  again  crossed  his  mind,  and 
he  cast  a  quick,  suspicious  glance  across  the  hearth  at  Bain- 
tree,  whose  trembling  hands  were  spread  out  to  the  fire,  his 
pallid  face  bearing  that  recent  impress  of  a  strong  nervous 
shock,  indescribable,  but  as  unmistakable  as  the  print  of  a 
blow.  "  You  ought  never  to  have  hid  his  coat  and  hat,  — 
and,  by  the  way,  the  Broomsedge  despot  took  no  measures 
to  punish  you  for  that,  —  and  I  dare  say  if  the  man's  bones 
were  found  even  now  in  a  cave  on  his  land,  people  would  like 
to  know  how  his  cave  came  by  them." 

Baintree  looked  up  with  a  sudden  flash  of  his  former  sly 
intelligence,  then  bent  his  brooding  eyes  once  more  on  the 
fire. 

"  Especially,"  Rathburn  continued,  after  a  pause,  "  as 
they  were  always  on  bad  terms.  You  would  be  in  a  better 
position  to  stand  such  a  discovery  than  Jepson,  for  the  jury 
has  said  that  you  had  nothing  to  do  with  his  bones.  What 
did  Jepson  quarrel  with  him  about  ?  " 


370       THE  DESPOT   OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE. 

Baintree  never  spoke  of  the  victim  of  the  catastrophe  save 
with  a  bated  voice  and  a  strained,  anxious  expression,  al 
most  a  contortion  in  its  speculative  keenness  to  detect  the 
lack  of  confidence  that  was  the  usual  sequence  of  his  words. 

"  'Bout'n  the  way  he  treated  his  wife." 

"  His  wife  ?  —  thought  he  was  a  young  fellow,  a  mere 
boy." 

"  He  war  married  young,  — 'bout  twenty.  Gal  war  young, 
too.  They  did  n't  agree  tergether.  Some  folks  'lowed  he 
beat  her,  but  Sam'l's  kin  declared  they  jes'  fought  ter 
gether  —  her  bein'  ez  survigrous  ez  him.  But  Jepson  went 
over  thar  one  day  whenst  she  hed  her  head  tied  up,  'lowin' 
her  husband  hed  busted  it,  an'  he  gin  Sam'l  a  turr'ble 
trouncin'.  He  hed  his  head  tied  up  arter  that." 

"  I  suppose  she  did  n't  mourn  her  loss  ?  "  suggested  Rath- 
burn,  with  a  jeering  smile. 

"  Took  on  turr'ble  a-f ust,  an'  married  agin  'fore  the  year 
war  out." 

"  Glad  to  get  rid  of  him,  eh  ?  " 

"  He  'd  hev  been  mighty  glad  ter  git  rid  o'  her.  Useter 
'low  sometimes  ez  he  'd  run  away  from  her  ef  he  hed  enny- 
whar  ter  run  ter,  an'  from  Jepson,  too.  He  war  turr'ble 
'feard  o'  Jepson.  He  useter  'low  sometimes  ez  he  wisht  he 
hed  never  kem  from  North  Car'liny,  whar  he  useter  live  an' 
work  in  a  silver  mine.  It  gin  out,  though,  an'  war  n't  wuth 
nuthin'  ter  its  owners." 

"  I  wonder,"  said  Rathburn  speculatively,  "  if  that  is  n't 
where  he  is  right  now." 

"  Hed  n't  been  hearn  on  thar  at  the  time  o'  the  trial,"  • 
said  Baintree. 

"  Or  else,"  pursued  Rathburn  meditatively,  "  if  in  troun 
cing  him,  according  to  his  royal  prerogative,  Jepson  might 
not  have  overdone  the  chastisement,  and  stowed  away  the 
evidences  of  how  justice  had  overborne  mercy  in  that  cave 
of  his." 

Both  would  have  liked  to  credit  this,  but  Baintree  shook 
his  head. 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       371 

"  /  don't  believe  Keale  fell  into  any  cave,"  Rathburn  pres 
ently  resumed,  —  "a  deft-footed  mountaineer  !  He  either 
went  in  there  searching  for  silver,  or  he  was  put  in  there 
for  some  purpose,  or  he  has  run  away  from  his  matrimonial 
infelicity  and  the  despot  of  Broomsedge  Cove." 

He  paused  to  kick  the  chunks  of  the  logs  together,  be 
tween  the  stones  that  served  as  fire-dogs,  for  they  were 
burnt  out  now  save  for  their  bulky  and  charred  ends.  The 
flames  leaped  up  anew.  The  smoke  had  ceased  to  puff  into 
the  room,  but  its  aroma,  with  the  pungent  fragrance  of  the 
wood,  lingered  in  the  air.  The  worm,  in  which  Jake  Bain- 
tree  had  descried  a  parallel  of  cruelly  perplexed  anguish, 
was  gone,  and  the  world  was  as  if  it  had  never  been.  The 
sinuous  contortions  of  his  fear  and  harassment  continued 
with  hardly  more  hope  of  ultimate  rescue.  Nevertheless, 
like  the  worm,  he  could  but  strive. 

"  Eugene,"  he  said,  "  let 's  leave  the  cave  alone.  Su'thin' 
dreadful  will  kem  o'  it  ef  we  go  meddlin'  thar.  Ye  know 
ye  don't  want  ter  put  me  in  no  danger  wuss  'n  I  be  in  now. 
Ye  would  n't,  now  would  ye  ? "  in  an  unctuous,  coaxing 
voice,  and  with  an  appealing  look. 

"  Why,  not  for  worlds,  Jake,  not  for  worlds  !  "  exclaimed 
Rathburn  heartily. 

A  sigh  of  relief  was  on  the  lips  of  the  suspected  man,  a 
gleam  of  renewing  life  in  his  jaded  eye.  There  had  not  yet 
been  time  to  evolve  doubt,  suspicion,  qualification,  before 
Rathburn  spoke  again. 

"  Nothing  that  I  am  going  to  do  can  injure  anybody.  I 
was  placed  in  far  greater  jeopardy  by  your  concealments  and 
mystery  about  the  forge  than  ever  you  will  be  by  anything  I 
counsel  or  do." 

"  Ye  mean  ye  won't  go  ter  the  cave  ?  "  said  Baintree,  his 
lips  dry  and  moving  with  seeming  difficulty. 

"  Now  don't  be  an  ignoramus  and  a  fool,  Jake.  Of  course 
I  shall  look  for  more  of  the  float  about  the  cave.  I  believe 
that 's  where  the  man  found  it.  I  should  be  a  fit  subject 


372       THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE. 

for  the  lunatic  asylum  if  I  did  n't  search  there,  and  that 's 
just  what  you  are.  No  harm  in  the  world  can  come  of  it. 
Why,"  taking  a  bit  of  paper  from  his  pocket  and  deftly  roll 
ing  a  cigarette,  —  "  why,  Jake,"  —  he  spoke  in  answer  to 
Baintree's  silent  look,  — "  what  would  you  have  done  if, 
some  of  those  days  when  we  were  at  Jepson's  house,  I  had 
stumhled  on  the  mouth  of  that  cave  ?  " 

He  cocked  the  cigarette  between  his  teeth,  its  tiny  red  tip 
brightly  flaring,  for  the  room  was  growing  dull  and  dusky, 
and  looked  with  an  expression  of  good-natured  argument 
at  Baintree  across  the  hearth. 

The  mountaineer's  ruminative  eyes  were  fixed  upon  him. 
"I  tuk  good  pains  ye  shouldn't,"  he  admitted,  in  a  tone, 
however,  which  implied  that  he  had  yielded  the  previous 
points  of  controversy.  "  I  never  guided  ye  in  that  d'rec- 
tion." 

Rathburn  took  his  cigarette  from  his  mouth,  emitted  an 
airy  wreath  of  smoke,  and  shook  his  head  seriously  from 
side  to  side.  Then  as  he  smoked  on  he  said,  "  I  have  a 
very  pretty  quarrel  with  you,  Jake.  By  your  own  confes 
sion,  you  have  systematically  deceived  me  for  a  matter  of 
six  months  or  more.  You  made  me  believe  that  you  had 
found  the  float,  and  of  course  knew  where  you  found  it, 
when  you  were  only  trying  to  get  the  benefit  of  such  scien 
tific  knowledge  as  I  had,  —  to  discover  mineral  where  there 
was  no  reason  to  believe  it  to  be.  If  you  were  not  so  igno 
rant  you  would  n't  have  tried  a  foolish,  hopeless  dodge  like 
that.  You  have  made  me  work  very  hard  at  this  wild-goose 
chase,  digging,  and  tramping,  and  blacksmithing,  and  you 
got  me  into  a  scrape  that  might  have  cost  me  my  life.  In 
deed,  but  for  that  timely  warning  that  put  me  on  my  guard 
and  made  me  behave  like  a  man  instead  of  a  sheep-killing 
dog,  I  believe  it  would  have  cost  me  my  life." 

His  face  grew  grave  and  conscious  at  the  thought  of  Mar- 
cella.  He  sat  silent  for  a  moment  or  two,  looking  stead 
fastly  at  the  fire  and  turning  the  cigarette  delicately  between 
his  fingers. 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       373 

"  It  is  absurd,  because  you  are  afraid  of  this,  and  afraid 
of  that,  to  ask  me  to  give  up  the  whole  thing  or  to  go  and 
search  where  there  are  no  indications,  or  very  slight  ones, 
as  you  had  me  do  all  summer,  when  you  knew  where  the 
only  chances  lay.  But  I  forgive  you,  and  I  'm  not  going  to 
do  anything  that  can  possibly  injure  you." 

Baintree  was  sitting  so  still  in  the  dusky  gloom  of  the 
darkening  cabin  that  he  hardly  seemed  alive.  With  the 
brown  color  of  his  coat  dimly  suggested  on  the  duller  tones 
about  him.  he  looked  like  an  effigy  of  a  man  rudely  fash 
ioned  from  a  root. 

"  What  be  ye  a-goin'  ter  do  ?  "  he  demanded. 

The  lack  of  candor  could  hardly  be  urged  against  Eu 
gene  Rathbnrn  among  his  many  and  conspicuous  faults. 

"  I  'm  going  to  search  that  cave  from  end  to  end,  if  the 
good  Lord  spares  me,"  he  asseverated.  u  That 's  what  I  'm 
going  to  do.  There  's  nothing  there  that  I  shan't  find." 

His  cigarette,  so  far  spent  it  was,  required  some  deft  ma 
nipulation  that  it  should  not  burn  his  fingers  or  lips  and  yet 
yield  the  last  treasures  of  nicotian  luxury  that  it  contained. 
His  attention  was  fixed  upon  it,  and  he  lost  the  look  with 
which  Jake  Baintree  received  this  unequivocal  statement. 
When  he  glanced  up,  the  mountaineer  had  risen  and  was 
filling  his  pipe  from  some  tobacco  on  the  mantelpiece. 

"  Going  to  smoke  ?  "  asked  Rathburn.  u  Well,  good-night 
to  you,  for  I  'm  going  to  turn  in." 

He  spread  upon  the  floor  a  thick  rug  and  a  heavy  blanket, 
placing  one  end  over  the  saddle  to  serve  as  pillow,  and  as 
he  lay  before  the  dying  fire  he  seemed  to  take  scant  heed  of 
the  vigil  of  the  silent,  watchful  Baintree.  still  erect  in  his 
chair,  and  still  smoking  his  pipe.  Only  once  the  young 
townsman  stirred  after  he  lay  down.  "  How  good  the  rain 
sounds  on  the  roof,"  he  said  drowsily.  A  few  moments 
afterward  he  was  doubtless  asleep  —  a  sound,  dreamless 
slumber,  the  close  counterfeit  of  death,  motionless,  silent, 
deep.  Nevertheless  Jake  Baintree  hardly  felt  sure  of  its 


374   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDUE  COVE. 

genuineness  until  after  he  had  arisen  and  arranged  his  own 
pallet  with  some  unnecessary  stir,  that  might  have  seemed 
an  experiment  to  judge  if  the  sleeper  would  rouse  again  on 
any  slight  provocation.  Then  he  sat  down  once  more  and 
meditatively  eyed  the  red  embers,  dwindling,  still  dwin 
dling  in  the  white  and  gray  ashes. 

The  monotone  of  the  rain  still  beat  on  the  roof ;  he  heard 
the  wind  from  far  away ;  the  vague  stir  of  the  crumbling 
fire  was  distinguishable,  although  it  might  seem  so  fine  and 
subtle  a  rustle  would  have  been  lost  in  the  sound  of  aught 
else.  The  muffled  figure  on  the  floor  was  still  discernible 
in  the  red  glow  ;  even  the  yellow  hair  showed  in  a  dull  gleam 
amidst  the  umber  tones  of  the  shadows.  Jake  Baintree's 
eyes  were  upon  it  as  with  a  careful  hand  he  reached  into  a 
crevice  of  the  jamb  of  the  chimney  and  drew  forth  some 
thing  that  had  a  sudden  steely  glitter  even  in  the  semi-ob 
scurity,  and  laid  it  oautiously  on  his  knee. 

He  did  not  move  for  some  time  afterward,  although  in 
the  increasing  dusk  his  shadowy  figure  could  hardly  have 
been  distinguished  from  the  inanimate  shadows  about  him. 
Presently  his  hands  were  moving  softly  to  and  fro  with  swift, 
industrial  intentness. 

Even  the  embers  seemed  to  cling  to  life  and  yield  it  with 
the  reluctance  and  vacillating  struggle  pathetically  typical 
of  the  passing  of  human  breath.  Their  sparkle,  and  verve, 
and  flamboyant  energies  were  all  spent,  but  suddenly  they 
sent  forth  an  unexpected  red  glow,  strong  in  the  midst  of 
the  ashes,  that  was  like  the  transitory  revival  in  the  last" 
flickering  moments  of  a  doomed  creature. 

It  irradiated  Baintree's  wary  bright  eyes  fixed  abruptly 
upon  it,  as  he  sat  in  the  corner.  So  sudden  was  its  flare 
that  he  had  not  an  instant  to  prepare  for  it,  and  a  whisking 
feather  in  his  hand  still  mechanically  moved  to  and  fro  as 
he  oiled  a  pistol,  now  and  then  dipping  the  tip  of  the  quill 
into  a  tin  vessel  that  stood  on  the  jagged  edge  of  the  jamb 
beside  him.  He  gazed  with  alert  anxiety  at  the  sleeping 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOM  SEDGE  COVE.       375 

man  upon  the  floor.  The  room  was  fully  revealed  in  the 
melancholy  red  suffusion  ;  Rathburn's  face  was  distinct  with 
its  far-away,  unconscious  expression.  He  did  not  stir ;  he 
saw  naught  of  what  he  might  have  thought  strange  enough 
in  the  dead  hour  of  the  midnight,  —  Jake  Baintree  slipping 
cartridge  after  cartridge  into  the  six  chambers  of  Dr.  Rath- 
burn's  neglected  revolver,  not  loaded  before  since  he  had 
come  to  the  mountains  in  August. 


XXI. 

THE  storm  wrought  great  havoc  in  the  aspect  of  the  outer 
world.  The  dull  light  of  the  autumn  days  that  ensued 
served  to  show  how  the  red  and  gold  of  the  leaves  had  faded, 
and  what  resources  of  brown  and  a  sere  tawny  gray  the  ulti 
mate  stages  of  decay  held  in  store.  They  were  thickly 
massed  on  the  ground  now,  and  most  of  the  boughs  were 
bare  and  wintry,  and  swayed,  black  with  moisture,  against 
the  clouds,  that  in  their  silent  shifting  illustrated  an  infinite 
gradation  of  neutral  tints  between  pearl  and  purple.  Yet 
they  seemed  still,  these  clouds,  so  imperceptibly  did  each 
evolution  develop  from  the  previous  presentments  of  vapor. 

Far  away  the  gray  mountains  appeared  akin  to  the  dun 
cloud-masses  they  touched,  as  if  range  and  peak  were  piled 
one  above  the  other  almost  to  the  zenith.  Certain  fascinating 
outlines  of  the  distance,  familiars  of  the  fair  weather,  were 
withdrawn  beneath  this  lowering  sky,  and  strangely  enough 
the  landscape  seemed  still  complete  and  real  without  them, 
as  if  they  had  been  merely  some  fine  illusions  of  hope,  some 
figment  of  a  poetic  mood,  painted  in  tender  tints  upon  an 
inconstant  horizon.  Close  at  hand  the  heights  loomed  grim 
and  darkly  definite.  In  dropping  the  mask  of  foliage  they 
showed  fierce  features  hitherto  concealed,  —  gaunt  crags 
and  chasms,  and  awful  beetling  steeps ;  ravines,  deeply  cleft 
in  the  heart  of  the  range  ;  torrents,  flung  headlong  down 
the  precipices  to  be  lost  in  the  river  ;  many  sterile,  bare 
rocky  slopes. 

To  Marcella  a  new  glow  of  interest  was  shed  upon  the 
sombre  scene ;  often  she  looked  up  at  those  more  open  ex 
panses,  wondering  where,  in  the  vast  bewilderment  of  the  fast- 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.   377 

nesses,  the  stranger  and  his  mountain  guide  had  made  their 
temporary  home.  Far  away  as  they  were,  he  seemed  near 
in  the  definiteness  of  her  new  knowledge  of  him.  And  this 
she  supplemented  by  knowledge  not  so  definite.  With  this 
basis  for  speculation,  her  imagination  constructed,  with  all 
the  ease  of  that  airy  workmanship,  a  status  for  his  previous 
life,  endowed  him  with  a  series  of  predilections  and  preju 
dices,  and  many  noble  ideal  qualities  with  which  Rathburn 
might  have  found  himself  somewhat  embarrassed,  having 
had  but  scant  experience  with  such  fine  aesthetic  gear. 
There  were  circumstances  connected  with  his  recent  danger 
which  gave  her  an  intense  satisfaction,  —  she  had  requited  the 
good  deed  he  had  done  that  night  when  he  had  come  to  her 
father's  aid  through  the  storm.  She  had  repaid  the  debt 
fourfold.  She  remembered,  with  a  certain  soft  elation,  how 
he  had  recognized  the  risk  she  had  encountered,  how  he 
had  esteemed  it  of  no  slijht  magnitude.  It  might  have 
been  vanity,  it  might  have  been  some  tenderer  thrill  astir, 
but  it  was  sweet  to  her  to  hear  again  —  as  so  easily  she 
might,  when  she  would  —  the  quiver  in  his  voice  when  he 
had  declared  that  an  angel  of  mercy,  an  angel  had  rescued 
him  !  Often  she  paused  at  her  simple  tasks  to  recall  anew 
those  fervent  words,  those  earnest,  swift  glances,  which  said 
so  much  that  the  subtlest  words  might  fail  to  convey.  His 
gratitude  held  all  the  finest  essences  of  the  incense  of  flattery, 
and  she  recognized  a  unique  delight  in  the  fact  that  the 
words  and  the  glances  were  so  cleverly  calculated  for  her 
alone.  Always  her  lips  curved,  with  that  rarest  relish  of 
laughter,  when  it  is  for  joy  alone,  unmarred  by  any  element 
of  scorn  or  ridicule,  when  she  remembered  her  grandmother's 
satiric  flouts  at  his  "  n'angel "  and  subsequent  speculation  as 
to  which  of  the  mountain  girls  he  fancied,  in  his  sentimen 
tal  folly,  had  any  resemblance  to  a  celestial  being.  These 
thoughts  were  undulled  by  repetition.  But  one  afternoon, 
OH  a  bleak  hillside,  into  their  midst  a  certain  shadow  fell  — 
a  shadow  as  gray,  as  chill,  as  prophetic,  as  if  it  were  akin 


378   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

to  the  gray,  chill,  prophetic  shadows  of  the  day  that  stood, 
dejected,  on  every  slope,  and  waited  as  for  a  doom.  She 
had  gone  out  to  salt  the  sheep,  and  she  carried  a  gourd  of 
salt  in  her  hand.  Her  bonnet  —  it  was  of  a  gay  yellow 
calico  —  hung  on  her  shoulders,  the  strings  knotted  about 
her  neck,  and  her  heavy,  waving  brown  tresses  falling  over 
it  almost  hid  its  assertive  color  beneath  their  curling  lux 
uriance.  Her  dress  was  of  a  more  sombre  tone  ;  it  had 
encountered  disasters  in  its  dyes,  and  had  not  withstood  the 
test  of  soap  and  water.  It  was  difficult  to  say  whether  the 
result  were  a  darkly  brownish  green  or  a  darkly  greenish 
brown.  It  was  not  incongruous  with  the  dulling  tints  of  the 
landscape ;  as  she  stood,  it  served  to  define  her  light,  lithe 
figure  distinctly  against  the  tawny  stretches  of  broomsedge 
behind  her,  that  rose  gradually  to  the  summit  of  the  hill. 
There  seemed  the  full  development  of  its  tentative  shade  in 
the  dark  green  of  the  pines  clustering  along  the  background 
of  the  mountain.  Gray  rocks  cropped  out  of  the  red  clay 
gullies  that  scarred  the  descent  at  her  feet.  In  all  the  monot 
ony  of  the  scene,  the  flaring  yellow  about  her  throat  seemed 
a  triumphant  climax  of  color,  so  luminous  and  intense  it  was. 
Her  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  gray  sky  opposite,  for  she  looked 
far  over  the  sere  valleys,  where  it  bent  its  great  concave  to 
a  low  level.  Her  hand  hesitated  as  it  was  thrust  into  the 
brown  gourd  that  she  held.  The  sullen  elements  had  no 
power  to  dim  the  fair,  rich  tints  of  her  face,  and  grave 
though  it  was,  it  bore  the  happy  trace  of  recent  smiles.  The 
sheep  pressed  close  about  her,  the  black  sheep  of  the  flock, 
all  unaware  of  his  unenviable  metaphorical  notoriety  among 
men,  preferring  his  claim  for  salt  with  calm  assurance. 
She  was  motionless  for  a  moment,  then,  as  if  the  thought 
had  come  to  her  for  the  first  time,  "  Why  hev  he  never, 
never  kern  agin  ?  "  she  said. 

Her  mind  went  back  slowly,  to  count  the  days.  It  was 
difficult  to  differentiate  them,  they  were  all  so  alike.  As 
she  reviewed  the  trivial  incidents  that  might  serve  to 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE    COVE.       379 

individualize  them,  keeping  a  tally  with  her  fingers  on  the 
gourd,  she  began  to  realize  what  she  had  not  noticed  before, 
—  that  lately  there  had  been  many  visitors  at  the  house, 
not  her  own,  nor  her  grandmother's  ;  men,  chiefly,  wanting 
to  see  Eli  Strobe.  The  doctor's  orders  had  precluded  their 
entrance,  being  rigorously  obeyed  since  they  subserved  the 
pride  of  the  women,  who  had  sought  to  shield  Strobe's  in 
firmity  from  general  observation  in  Broomsedge  Cove. 

"  We-uns  don't  want  'em  'round  hyar  a-crowin'  over  Eli 
in  the  pride  o'  sech  brains  ez  they  hev  got,  till  he  hev  hed 
a  fair  chance  ter  git  well,"  Mrs.  Strobe  had  said  to  her 
granddaughter.  "  Folks  knowed  ez  he  war  out'n  his  head 
with  fever  an'  his  mind  wandered  some  whenst  he  war  fust 
knocked  down,  but  nobody  suspicions  ez  he  hev  plumb  gone 
deranged  'bout  killin'  Teck  Jepson  'ceptin'  them  two  doctor 
men  an'  Andy  Longwood,  an'  I  know  they  ain't  goin'  ter 
tell." 

Many,  then,  had  been  to  the  door  of  late,  but  the  yellow- 
haired  young  stranger  had  come  no  more,  and  Marcella 
wondered,  with  a  dull  presage  of  gloom,  would  he  ever  come 
again. 

When  next  the  chords  of  memory  vibrated  with  his  dec 
laration  that  an  angel  had  saved  him,  it  had  a  javring  clan 
gor  of  doubt,  of  ridicule,  that  made  its  wonted  dulcet  itera 
tion  a  discord.  Human  nature  is  not  generally  so  recogni- 
zant  of  celestial  condescension  and  kindness  that  much  is 
necessarily  implied  in  the  protestation  of  equivalent  grati 
tude  and  indebtedness  to  an  earthly  benefactor.  Marcella 
did  not  realize  this.  Was  it  thus,  she  asked  herself,  that 
he  would  have  passed  her  by  if  he  had  felt  in  his  heart  the 
word  upon  his  lips  ? 

Now  and  again  the  gourd  in  her  hand  was  nudjed  by  the 
soft  nozzle  of  a  sheep,  and  she  would  once  more  bethink 
herself  to  cast  a  handful  of  salt  down  upon  the  rock  as  the 
flock  pressed  about  her.  There  was  no  other  stir  in  all  the 
broad  spaces  she  overlooked  save  the  vibrations  of  the  wind 


380   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

in  the  bare  boughs  that  clashed  together  with  a  dull  rattling 
sound,  and  the  rustling  shiver  through  the  tawny  tufts  of 
broomsedge. 

She  gave  a  great  start  when  her  eyes  were  abruptly  con 
centrated  upon  an  object  in  the  midst  of  its  tall  growth  half 
way  down  the  hill,  beginning  slowly  to  move,  to  rise.  It 
seemed  to  her  suddenly  recalled  attention,  still  dazed  by  the 
transition  from  the  world  of  thought  to  the  more  exigent 
material  sphere,  as  if  it  were  some  gigantic  mushroom  toil 
ing  up  the  ascent,  having  just  come  in  sight  above  a  pro 
jecting  knoll  of  earth.  Beneath  the  broad  bent  hat  she 
presently  discerned  a  chubby  dark-eyed  face,  and  the  rest 
of  the  person  of  a  fat  young  fellow-creature  of  the  age  of 
four,  perhaps,  arrayed  in  a  short,  stout  homespun  skirt  and 
a  straight  waist  tightly  encircling  a  singularly  round  body, 
was  revealed  to  view. 

So  unexpected  was  this  apparition,  despite  its  simplicity, 
that  as  she  gazed  she  was  not  aware  that  a  man  had  as 
cended  the  hill  farther  to  the  right,  and  stood  leaning  on  a 
long  rifle  silently  contemplating  her.  Not  until  he  spoke 
did  she  turn. 

"Ain't  ye  goin'  ter  gin  me  nare  word.  Marcelly?"  said 
Teck  Jepson. 

She  flushed  deeply.  Surprised  and  taken  thus  at  a  dis 
advantage,  she  forgot  for  a  moment  her  anger  toward  him. 

"  I  never  seen  ye  —  howdy,"  she  said  meekly. 

Her  flush  was  instantly  reflected  on  his  face  as  the  red 
glow  of  a  sunset  irradiates  the  alien  eastern  sky.  There  was 
a  new  light  in  his  eyes.  She  detected  in  his  voice  something 
of  the  impetus  of  the  false  hope  that  lured  him,  although  he 
only  said  casually,  as  if  seeking  to  formally  acquit  her  of  any 
discourtesy,  — 

"  I  seen  ye  war  noticin'  Bob,  thar,  —  he  air  a  mighty 
s'prisin'  sight  down  in  the  Cove,  I  know." 

Even  so  slight  a  pleasantry  seemed  odd  from  him,  so  ex 
acting  a  gravity  he  bore  in  his  daily  walk  and  conversation. 


THE  DESPOT  OP'  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       381 

She  subtly  understood  it  as  the  outgushing  happiness  of  the 
mistake  under  which  he  had  fallen  ;  so  trifling  a  hope,  so 
slight  a  relenting  counted  for  much  in  the  depths  of  despair 
into  which  he  had  sunk.  She  would  have  been  glad  to  un 
deceive  him,  but  she  was  still  agitated  and  confused  by  the 
sudden  severance  of  her  troubled  and  absorbed  train  of 
thought,  and  the  abrupt  surprise  of  his  presence  here.  She 
merely  said,  "  Air  that  leetle  Bob  Bowles,  yer  nevy  ?  " 

He  nodded,  his  face  relaxing  into  its  infrequent  smile  as 
he  looked  down  at  the  plodding  plumpness  approaching 
through  the  broomsedge. 

"  He  air  visitin'  ye,  then,  I  reckon." 

"  Not  edzac'ly  ;  he  hev  runned  away  from  home." 

The  fat  Bob  sat  down  upon  one  of  the  outcropping  ledges 
of  the  rock  near  where  the  sheep  crowded  about  Marcella, 
at  whom  he  looked  with  apprehensive  eyes.  Mrs.  Bowles 
was  the  only  woman  in  his  very  restricted  social  circle  with 
whom  he  was  acquainted,  and  his  experience  with  her  did 
not  tend  to  foster  confidence  in  the  sex. 

"  He  looks  at  me  ez  ef  he  'lowed  I  'd  hurt  him,"  cried 
Marcella,  flushing  and  suddenly  affronted.  "  I  never  knowed 
I  war  so  turr'ble  ez  all  that." 

"  Bob  —  Bob,  ye  look  the  other  way  !  "  Jepson  admon 
ished  him. 

But  Bob,  with  scant  regard,  evidently,  for  Jepson's  man 
dates,  continued  to  gaze  wincingly  up  at  the  fair  face  of  the 
girl,  meeting  her  indignant  and  grieved  eyes.  Detecting  at 
last  a  protest  in  her  expression,  he  lifted  his  chubby  arm 
and  crooked  it  over  his  head,  a  forlornly  inadequate  guard 
against  the  blow  he  expected. 

"  He  thinks  I  'd  hurt  him !  "  she  cried  in  a  wounded 
manner.  "  Why,  don't  ye  know  I  would  n't  fur  nuthin',  — 
fur  nuthin'  ?  " 

She  sat  down  by  him  on  the  rock  and  took  his  little  sun 
burned  hand  in  her  soft  clasp.  His  eyes  were  alight  and 
alert  with  fear.  With  a  wonderful  show  of  elasticity  he 


382        THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOM  SEDGE   COVE. 

edged  bouncingly  along  the  ledge  to  evade  her  overtures ; 
but  a  sheep  had  lain  down  across  the  rock,  and  although  he 
pressed  close  into  the  wool  of  the  creature,  it  did  not  rise, 
and  he  was  at  the  mercy  of  his  captor.  She  still  held  the 
gourd  of  salt,  and  the  flock  crowded  about  with  insistent, 
rummaging  nozzles.  One  of  the  sheep,  standing  on  the 
higher  ground  behind  her,  looked  pensively  over  her  shoul 
der  at  the  broad  mountain  landscape,  the  delicate,  slender 
head  of  the  animal  almost  touching  the  bright  hair  so  heav 
ily  curling  on  her  yellow  sun-bonnet,  still  hanging  loosely 
about  her  neck. 

The  graceless  Bob  !  Jepson  could  only  lean  his  six  feet 
of  helplessness  upon  his  long  rifle,  and  earnestly  breathe 
that  sinking  hope  against  hope  known  only  to  those  who 
have  callow  relatives  placed  in  a  conspicuous  and  exacting 
position,  with  every  opportunity  for  lamentable  infringe 
ment  of  etiquette.  Did  ever  so  doubtful,  suspicious,  and 
terrified  a  look,  as  Bob  cast  upward,  meet  such  suave,  sweet, 
smiling  eyes  ?  Was  ever  a  round,  dodging,  bullet  head  so 
evasively  shifted  from  beneath  so  light  a  caress  as  the  touch 
of  those  falling  curling  tresses  ?  How  wasted,  how  inop 
portunely  wasted  on  Bob  her  soft  words,  — 

"  I  love  ye  —  an'  I  want  ye  ter  love  me  !  " 

But  Bob,  who  evidently  harbored  a  distrust  in  amazing 
disproportion  to  his  small  size  and  his  tender  years,  was 
proof  against  even  so  enchanting  a  siren.  He  merely 
knitted  his  limited  eyebrows  in  perplexity  because  of  the 
unexpected  nature  of  the  attack,  for  that  unhappy  and  strik 
ing  developments  were  to  ensue  he  did  not  permit  himself 
to  disbelieve  for  an  instant.  He  left  his  hand  in  hers,  for 
his  theory  that  least  resistance  resulted  in  the  minimum 
smart  had  been  proved  often  enough  to  commend  it.  A 
short  little  puff  of  breath  —  in  an  adult  it  might  have  been 
called  a  sigh  —  escaped  from  his  half-parted  lips,  and  be 
tokened  suspense. 

"  How  ye  all  mus'  hev  treated  him  up  on  the  mounting !  " 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.   383 

Marcella  exclaimed,  flashing  her  angry  eyes  upward  at  Teck 
Jepson.  "  He  's  'feard  —  an'  jes'  see  the  leetle  size  of  him  ! 
He  's  'feard  ;  he  would  n't  dodge  that-a-way  ef  he  hed  n't 
been  hit  a  heap  o'  times  fur  nuthin'.  Who  treats  him  so 
mean  ?  " 

Jepson  hesitated.  Certainly  he  owed  naught  to  Mrs. 
Bowles,  but  they  had  been  of  the  same  household,  and  he 
had  a  reluctance  to  expose  her  to  scorn  and  contumely, 
however  richly  merited. 

Marcella  noted  his  hesitation  and  broke  forth  impulsively, 
"  I  don't  wonder  ye  look  'shamed  of  it." 

He  shifted  his  position  suddenly,  and  as  he  gazed  at  her, 
still  leaning  on  the  rifle,  his  eyes  widely  open,  his  lips 
parted,  his  breath  coming  quick,  it  might  have  seemed  that 
he  had  need  of  his  weapon  to  uphold  him,  —  he  was  shaken 
as  if  by  a  blow. 

"  Marcelly  !  "  he  exclaimed,  —  and  the  voice  hardly 
seemed  his,  so  unlike  was  the  husky  quaver  to  his  wonted 
full,  mellow  tones,  —  "  kin  ye  think  that  o'  me,  —  ez  't  war 
me  ez  hev  persecuted  that  thar  leetle  bit  of  a  critter  ?  " 

He  paused  and  looked  about  him  with  an  air  of  finality. 
His  nerves  were  still  distraught ;  his  lip  quivered.  She  sat, 
a  little  pale  and  shaken  by  the  sight  of  his  agitation,  gazing 
up  at  him  from  under  her  eyebrows,  and  hardly  lifting  her 
head,  expectant,  waiting,  but  making  no  sign  of  denial. 

"  Waal,"  he  said,  drawing  himself  to  his  full  height, 
"  this  finishes  it.  I  hev  b'lieved,  I  hev  lived  in  hope  ez 
some  day  ye  mought  kem  ter  keer  fur  me,  'spite  o'  all  that 
hev  kem  an'  gone.  But  now  ez  I  hev  fund  out  how  awful 
mean  ye  think  I  be,  ez  ye  kin  b'lieve  fur  one  minnit  ez  I 
hed  enny  hand  in  tormentin'  a  leetle  trembly  soul  like  that, 
I  '11  gin  hope  up.  I  '11  trouble  ye  with  my  feelin's  no  mo'. 
An'  I  '11  never  f urgive  ye  whilst  I  live  !  " 

Marcella  sat  quite  still  and  with  downcast  eyes  during 
this  outburst.  There  was  something  very  like  a  sob  in  his 
throat  as  he  spoke  the  last  words,  but  when  she  glanced  up 


384   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

again  his  face  was  so  calm,  his  gaze  so  loftily  discursive 
as  he  cast  his  eyes  over  the  landscape,  his  attitude  so  im 
pressive  and  striking,  that  she  interpreted  this  serenity  of 
pride  as  triumph,  and  she  suddenly  felt  a  goad  in  his  last 
avowal. 

"  Waal,  strange  ez  it  may  seem,"  she  said,  tossing  her 
hair  backward,  and  the  breeze,  catching  the  locks,  flung 
them  gayly  about,  "  I  kin  live  without  it.  An'  I  hev  hearn 
ye  talk  'bout  yer  feelin's  an'  sech  till  thar  's  mighty  leetle  en 
tertainment  lef '  in  'em.  An'  treatin'  this  hyar  leetle  chile 
mean,  till  he  looks  ter  be  beat  ef  a  body  glances  thar  eye 
at  him,  'pears  ter  me  mightily  of  a  piece  with  bein'  the  cap 
tain  o'  a  gang  o'  lynchers  an'  sech  evil  doin's." 

There  was  a  momentary  silence.  Her  eyes,  restless,  un 
seeing,  wandered  vaguely  over  the  broad  brown  expanse  of 
valley  and  mountain.  Once  more  she  bethought  herself  of 
the  sheep,  and  poured  the  salt  out  of  the  gourd  on  the 
ground.  The  excitement  of  the  moment  pulsed  heavily  in 
her  temples ;  she  felt  a  gnawing  pain  at  her  heart,  and  she 
was  unhappy. 

The  cause  of  all  this  trouble  hardly  comported  himself 
in  a  congruous  manner.  Bob  was  relieved  when  her  atten 
tion  was  diverted  from  him,  and  gave  a  fat  little  sigh  of 
content.  He  sat  for  a  moment  quite  still,  looking  very  ro 
tund  in  build,  contemplating  the  resources  of  the  scene  for 
juvenile  enjoyment.  Then  leaning  forward,  he  placed  his 
broad  white  wool  hat  on  the  unsuspecting  head  of  a  sheep 
near  at  hand,  and  it  was  difficult  to  say  whether  the  smoth 
ered  "  baa  "  that  proceeded  from  the  eclipsed  beast,  or  its 
groping  as  it  rose  to  its  feet,  or  its  unique  aspect  as  it  stood, 
with  the  hat  on  its  head,  uncertain  what  might  ensue,  was 
the  chief  factor  in  eliciting  a  low,  jovial  chuckle  from  the 
distended  gleeful  lips. 

But  neither  of  his  elders  noticed  the  wiles  of  the  callow 
martyr,  for  Jepson's  attention  was  fixed  upon  the  revelation 
contained  in  Marcella's  last  words,  and  she,  realizing  no<\v 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       385 

their  full  significance,  was  nervously  biting  her  lips  in  futile 
regret  that  they  had  thence  escaped. 

"  I  hev  no  call  ter  gin  account  o'  sech  ez  I  do  ter  you-uns," 
he  said,  with  that  serene  arrogance  which  she  had  always 
felt  was  intolerable,  and  which  she  had  in  vain  sought  to  re- 
dace.  "  I  'd  hev  been  mighty  pleased  ef  ye  bed  thunk  well 
o'  my  deeds  an'  could  hev  put  enny  dependence  in  me,  but 
ef  ye  don't,  it  don't  make  me  think  no  ill  o'  myself  nor  my 
aims.  I  ain't  got  two  faces,  ter  turn  this  one,  an'  ef  ye 
don't  like  its  looks,  turn  that  one.  I  be  led  by  sech  light 
ez  the  Sperit  hev  revealed  ter  me,  an'  I  don't  ax  ye  nor 
enny  other  human  ter  show  me  the  way  an'  guide  my 
feet."  He  paused,  looking  reflectively  at  the  broomsedge 
waving  about  his  high  boots ;  then  he  recommenced  sud 
denly.  "  Bein'  ez  ye  hev  got  a  interns'  in  the  man  ez  tole 
ye  I  war  a  captain  o'  a  gang  o'  lynchers,  ye  hed  better  warn 
him  not  ter  let  his  jaw  wag  too  slack,  —  not  about  me  ;  I 
ain't  keerin'  what  he  say  'bout  me,  but  them  t'  other  men 
mought  hear  o'  his  talkin'  too  free,  an'  I  ain't  round  about 
the  Settlemint  much,  an'  couldn't  bender  'em  ef  they  war 
ter  set  out  ter  do  him  a  damage.  Tell  him  that.  They  air 
powerful  outdone  with  me  ennyhow,  kase  I  would  n't  gin  my 
cornsent  ter  sech  ez  they  wanted  that  night  he  kem  ter  the 
forge." 

Marcella  hardly  breathed,  so  strong  upon  her  was  the 
terror  of  jeopardizing  the  safety  of  Rathburn. 

"  How  do  ye  know  who  tole  me  ?  "  she  demanded,  gaz 
ing  up  at  him  with  a  feint  of  defiance  in  her  contracted  eye 
brows  and  curling  lip.  "  Ye  may  be  talkin'  'bout  one  man, 
an'  me  'bout  another." 

He  looked  straight  into  the  clear  depths  of  her  eyes. 
They  faltered  suddenly,  and  the  long  lashes  fell  as  he 
said,  —  4 

"  Naw,  we  be  both  talkin'  'bout'n  that  Doctor  Rathburn, 
ez  he  calls  hisse'f,  —  that  be  who  we  air  talkin'  'bout." 

She    leaned    back    silently   against    a   rugged    bowlder 


386   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

amongst  the  outcropping  ledges,  the  gourd,  empty  now,  the 
neck  of  it  still  in  her  listless  hand,  lying  beside  her  on  the 
trampled  broomsedge.  Her  greenish-brown  dress  was  much 
like  the  mosses  in  the  fissures  of  the  gray  rock,  against  the 
cold  monotone  of  which  her  fair  young  face  seemed  so  deli 
cately  and  finely  tinted.  The  flock  had  scattered,  feeding 
amongst  the  brambles  and  on  tufts  of  grass  that  seemed, 
beneath  the  fallen  leaves,  to  have  escaped  the  frost.  The 
sheep  that  had  worn  the  hat  rid  himself  of  it  at  last,  and 
looked  on  stupidly  when  the  little  mountaineer,  with  an  agile 
elasticity  of  gait  incongruous  with  his  infantile  rotundity, 
ran  out  and  triumphantly  crowned  another,  slipping  back  to 
his  seat  beside  Marcella,  and  attracting  no  notice  save  from 
the  placid  flock,  pausing  to  gaze  in  mild-eyed  wonder. 

4<  I  ain't  lookin'  ter  see  that  man  agin,"  said  Marcella, 
her  eyes  fixed  on  the  summits  across  the  broad  valley.  "  I 
can't  tell  him." 

She  paused,  in  the  hope  that  he  might  ask  if  she  had  not 
seen  him  lately,  but  Jepson  could  be  betrayed  into  no  un 
seemly  show  of  curiosity,  and  she  was  presently  fain  to  con 
tinue. 

"  I  ain't  seen  him  sence  he  war  at  our  house  that  night. 
I  dunno  what 's  kem  o'  him." 

He  stood  impassive,  silent,  leaning  upon  his  rifle,  which 
he  held  with  one  hand,  while  the  other  was  thrust  in  his 
leather  belt.  When  she  spoke  he  looked  down  at  her,  and 
his  eyes  met  hers,  but  when  she  was  silent  he  glanced  with 
grave  preoccupation  at  the  leaden  sky  or  the  sombre  ranges. 

"  I  'lowed  mebbe  he  hed  gone  home,"  she  said,  after  one 
of  these  intervals.  It  was  so  recently  that  she  had  become 
definitely  aware  how  long  it  had  been  since  he  was  at  the 
house,  how  fully  the  recollection  of  his  words  had  sufficed 
in  the  certain  expectation  of  his  return,  that  she  was  for  the 
first  time  canvassing  the  probabilities. 

"  Mebbe  so,"  he  replied  non-committally. 

She  gave  a  sudden  quick  gasp,  and  turned  pale. 


THE  DESPOT  OF  DROOMSEDGE  COVE.   387 

"  Them  men  —  them  men,  mebbe,  hev  tuk  him  at  las'. 
They  waylaid  him  agin,  —  hev  they  ?  —  hev  they  ?  " 

"  Not  ez  I  hev  hearn  on,"  he  replied. 

His  evident  lack  of  excitement  in  regard  to  the  possibility 
roused  her  anger  anew.  Her  nerves  were  all  a-quiver  un 
der  the  unexpected  strain.  She  hardly  sought  to  control 
her  words  ;  they  were  a  relief  to  her  tense,  overwrought 
anxiety. 

"  How  kin  ye  stand  thar  an'  'low,  *  Not  ez  I  hev  hearn 
on/  ez  keerless  ez  ef  I  war  a-talkin'  'bout  a  fox  ketched  in 
a  trap  ?  Ye  don't  keer,  Teck  Jepson,  ye  don't  keer !  Ye  'd 
jes'  ez  soon  he  would  be  kilt  by  them  mis'able  Brumsaidge 
rangers  ez  not.  Ye  air  a  cruel,  bloodthirsty  man.  Ye  don't 
keer  ef  the  innercent  stranger  war  kilt." 

Despite  his  protestations  of  independence  of  spirit,  he  was 
roused  to  defend  himself  against  this  imputation. 

"  Ef  I  hed  n't  keered,"  he  said,  his  lip  curling  with  a 
scornful  half  laugh,  and  his  eyes  far  away,  u  I  would  't  hev 
gone  with  them  fellers  at  the  barn.  I  'lowed  I  could  hen- 
der  'em  from  doin'  ennything  onjust,  or  hasty,  or  mischiee- 
vious,  though  ef  the  stranger  hed  been  at  enny  wicked  de 
vice,  I  dunno  ez  I  would  hev  pertected  him  an'  sot  him  free 
like  I  done." 

Marcella's  heart  was  throbbing  with  contending  emotions, 
the  dominant  feeling  a  resentment  that  Teck  Jepson  should 
thus  credit  himself  with  the  rescue  of  Rathburn,  the  merits 
of  which  that  young  gentleman's  rhetoric  had  greatly  ex 
alted  in  her  estimation,  for  she  had  thought  it  a  simple, 
natural,  matter-of-course  action  when  she  had  first  been 
moved  to  do  aught  in  his  behalf.  She  had  logic  enough  to 
realize,  however,  that  her  timely  warning  and  Rathburn's 
clever  boldness  would  have  availed  little  had  not  Jepson's 
nuod  been  judicial,  and  the  sway  which  he  exerted  over  his 
comrades  perfect  and  complete.  Nevertheless  her  claim  was 
not  to  be  easily  belittled.  Her  ingenuity  renewed  its  hold. 

**  Then,"  she  said,  "  ye  let  him  off,  I  '11  be  bound,  not  kase 


388        THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOM  SEDGE   COVE. 

ye  knowed  't  war  right  an'  jestice  but  jes'  kase  ye  fund  out 
ez  't  war  me  ez  hed  warned  the  man,  an'  ye  lowed  't  would 
put  me  in  a  good  humor  with  you-uns  ef  ye  war  ter  holp 
me  out  an'  save  his  life.  Ye  done  it  ter  please  me." 

He  was  not  quite  sure  he  understood  her  at  first.  He 
seemed  dumfounded ;  then,  as  the  light  of  comprehension 
dawned  in  his  eyes,  he  looked  down  into  her  face  and 
laughed. 

"  Kem,  Bob,"  he  said,  turning  away,  "  it 's  time  we-uns 
war  a-travelin'." 

But  Bob  had  met  a  young  friend  of  somewhat  his  own 
tastes  and  disposition.  A  lamb  had  strayed  near  where  he 
was  sitting,  and  the  two  had  spent  some  profitable  moments 
in  gazing  silently  at  one  another  with  that  irresistible  curios 
ity  and  manifest  fellow-feeling  which  infancy  has  for  in 
fancy.  What  they  thought  each  of  the  other  no  one  can 
ever  say.  That  the  scrutiny  was  not  mutually  derogatory 
in  its  results  may  be  inferred  from  the  fact  that  the  lamb 
leaped  suddenly  to  one  side  on  its  slender,  knobby  little  legs, 
with  a  sort  of  aquiline  alacrity,  and  kicked  up  some  very 
frolicsome  heels.  Whereupon  Bob  mitigated  the  intensity 
of  his  stare,  and  began  to  run  about  nimbly  with  his  short 
skirts  flying,  his  round  body  very  straight,  his  agility  seem 
ing  necessarily  somewhat  knock-kneed  in  order  to  give  free 
play  to  such  redundant  calves.  He  showed  a  very  merry 
pair  of  heels,  that  served  him  as  well  as  the  lamb's  two 
pairs,  and  neither  of  the  blithe  young  things  took  the  smallest 
notice  of  Jepson's  summons. 

Marcella  gave  them  no  heed.  She  had  never  been  so 
deeply  wounded  as  by  Jepson's  evident  surprise,  his  laugh, 
disclaiming  the  motive  to  please  her.  Always  he  had  seemed 
to  her  secretly  subservient  to  her  power,  however  he  might 
seek  to  assert  his  own  independence.  She  was  humiliated 
that  she  should  have  suggested  her  influence  and  received  a 
renunciation  rather  than  a  protestation.  It  was  as  if  he 
had  told  her  that  he  did  not  love  her  so  much  as  she 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.   389 

thought  —  not  so  blindly,  so  idolatrously.  She  had  over- 
flattered  herself  ;  her  vanity  had  palpably  convicted  her. 
Strangely  enough  she  was  not  angry.  Every  emotion  was 
absorbed  in  the  idea  that  he  did  not  love  her  as  she  had 
thought  he  did  —  he  had  laughed  at  the  supreme  power 
which  she  assumed  to  wield  over  him. 

She  glanced  up  at  him  aslant  under  her  long  lashes.  He 
was  not  looking  at  her.  He  had  shouldered  his  rifle  and 
was  advancing  upon  the  swiftly  revolving  Bob  and  his  nim 
ble  four-footed  acquaintance. 

"  Kem  on,  bubby.  Kem  on,  Bob.  We-uns  mus'  go  home 
now." 

But  the  gleeful  Bob,  with  distended  ruddy  cheeks,  and 
two  rows  of  snaggled  white  teeth,  and  gleaming  eyes  almost 
eclipsed  in  rolls  of  fat,  continued  his  blithe  circuit,  finding  a 
new  joy  in  flapping  his  arms,  in  which  he  had  an  advantage 
over  the  lamb,  who  had  no  arms  to  flap,  and  who  often 
paused  with  meditative  lowered  head  to  gaze  at  these  gyra 
tions. 

"  Kem  on,  Bob  —  or  I  '11  make  ye  !  Ye  '11  repent  it,  sir ! 
Kem  on !  " 

And  once  more  Jepson  approached  the  elusively  whisking 
Bob.  "  Kem  on  !  Like  a  good  boy."  He  resorted  to  en 
treaty. 

But  Bob  evidently  disbelieved  in  retribution  from  this 
source,  and  was  hard-hearted  enough  to  disregard  softer 
suasion. 

"  He  be  a  powerful  obejient  chile !  "  Marcella  remarked, 
with  a  little  satiric  laugh. 

"  He  's  young  yit,"  returned  Jepson,  flustered  and  morti 
fied.  "  Whenst  he  gits  a  leetle  older  he  '11  do  better.  Bob, 
I  '11  let  ye  tote  my  shot-pouch,  like  ye  love  ter  do." 

But  Bob,  with  a  soul  above  bribes,  circled  as  before. 
Marcella,  with  an  arch  sidelong  glance,  turned  from  him  to 
Jepson.  "  How  mean  ye  must  treat  him !  How  'feard  o' 
you-uns  he  do  be !  "  she  exclaimed  with  laughing  irony. 


390   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

A  flush  rose  suddenly  to  his  brow,  and  she  saw  anew  how 
deeply  wounded  he  had  been  by  the  ignoble  and  odious  ac 
cusation.  Little  wonder,  since  he  felt  it  so,  that  he  had  de 
clared  he  would  never  forgive  her. 

"  I  furgot  he  hed  a  stepmother,"  she  faltered  by  way  of 
excuse. 

"  I  never  said  nuthin'  agin  his  stepmother,"  he  rejoined 
sternly,  darkly  frowning. 

Bob  was  beginning  to  show  signs  of  exhaustion.  As  Jep- 
son  turned  toward  him  again  Marcella  gave  a  sudden  start. 
She  felt  she  had  done  him  a  grievous  injustice  and  she  re 
pented  it.  With  some  vague  apologetic  intention  she  sought 
to  detain  him  on  some  pretext,  —  on  any  pretext,  —  and  she 
spoke  upon  the  impulse  of  the  moment. 

"  Mus'  I  tell  the  folks  at  home  ez  ye  never  wunst  thunk 
ter  inquire  arter  them  ?  "  Her  eyes  were  dewy  and  bright ; 
a  faint  flush  was  in  her  cheek ;  the  tender  curves  of  her 
red  lips  wore  a  half-smiling  sweetness  ;  as  she  lifted  her 
head  upward  to  look  at  him,  the  hair  curling  on  her  shoul 
ders  fell  still  farther  down  over  the  dangling  yellow  sun- 
bonnet. 

He  turned  a  changed  face.  "  I  war  'feard  ter  ax,  Mar- 
celly,"  he  said,  in  his  low  melancholy  drawl.  "  I  know  ye 
feel  so  hard  ter  me  'bout'n  Eli  —  an'  I  never  kin  forgive 
myself,  though  I  never  went  ter  do  no  harm.  I  hear  'bout 
Eli  constant  —  'thout  hevin'  ter  harry  yer  f eelin's  by  axin' 
ye  arter  him." 

The  girl  felt  a  certain  reassurance,  a  satisfaction  that  in 
this  at  least  he  had  not  changed.  Since  he  had  wrought  so 
grievous  an  injury  to  Eli  Strobe,  remorse  was  the  meet  se 
quence.  But  her  alert  intuition  presently  apprehended  a 
tone  not  altogether  applicable  to  the  past. 

"  He  air  thrivin'  toler'ble,  now,"  she  observed. 

He  glanced  at  her  with  the  keen  suspense  of  an  unex 
pected  hope  shining  in  his  eyes.  "  Then  what  they  say  at 
the  Settlemint  ain't  true  !  " 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.   391 

She  felt  a  sudden  fear  clutch  at  her  heart.  Her  face 
paled  —  her  eyes  dilated. 

"  What  air  they  sayin'  agin  him  at  the  Settlemint  ?  "  she 
asked,  trembling,  yet  roused  into  instant  defiance. 

"  'T  ain't  faultin'  Eli  noways,"  he  explained  anxiously. 
"  Tliey  'low,  though,  ez  his  ailment  hev  streck  his  brain,  an' 
he  hev  gone  deranged." 

Her  short,  sudden  scream  rang  out  shrilly  in  the  dull  si 
lence  of  the  gray  afternoon.  She  sprang  to  her  feet.  "  Who 
hev  tole  that  —  who  hev  tole  that  on  him  ?  I  '11  be  bound 
them  sly  foxes  at  the  Settlemint  air  plottin'  su'thin  agin 
him.  They  won't  gin  him  time  ter  git  well,  an'  they  don't 
want  ter  let  him  be  constable,  what  he  hev  done  been  'lected 
ter  be.  Who  hev  tole  it?  Who  hev  tole  it?"  Her  eyes 
flashed  an  insistent  inquiry  at  him  and  he  could  only  reply 
doubtfully,  — 

"  I  dunno,  Marcelly.  I  jes'  hearn  a  whole  pack  of  'em 
at  the  store  "  —  she  winced  visibly  at  the  idea  of  this  wide 
dissemination  of  the  rumor — "  a-talkin'  bout'n  it.  But  I 
dunno  who  set  it  a-goin'  fust." 

"  I  do  !  "  she  exclaimed  franticallv.  "That  stranger  — 
he  'peared  tickled  ter  death  whenst  he  fust  noticed  it.  Never 
seen  a  man  so  streck  by  nuthin'  in  yer  life.  Tuk  an'  felt 
his  pulse,  sir,  an'  'peared  like  he  'd  ruther  hear  sech  foolish 
ness  talked  'n  the  sober  wisdom  o'  Sol'mon  !  I  war  mad 
then — but  what  though  bein'  called  a  u'angel  " —  She 
broke  off  suddenly.  "  'T  war  him  —  't  war  him  —  kase  no 
body  else  knowed  it.  Dad  hain't  seen  nobody  else  'ceptin' 
him  an'  Andy  Longwood  one  day,  —  but  Andy  hain't  got 
larnin'  enough  ter  feel  folkses  pulses  an'  sense  thar  short- 
comin's  an'  seen.  'T  war  him  !  'T  war  him  !  Oh,  ye  air 
all  alike.  I  never  see  nobody  ez  I  take  a  notion  air  mighty 
good  an'  fine,  an1  I  go  round  like  a  fool  studyin'  'bout  'em 
all  day,  but  what  —  ef  I  know  'em  long  enough  —  I  find 
out  they  air  jes'  plain  common  men-folks  sech  ez  hev  been 
sence  the  worl'  began,  —  jes'  like  Adam,  rather  guzzle  a 


392   THE  DESTOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

apple  'n  bide  in  Paradise."  She  smiled  reflectively,  a  scorn 
ful  retrospection,  as  if  the  thought  of  some  past  folly  were 
both  bitter  and  ludicrous. 

"  Waal,"  she  resumed,  turning  upon  him,  "  what  war  they 
'lowin'  at  the  store  they  war  goin'  ter  do  'bout'n  it  ?  " 

He  shifted  his  weight  to  the  other  foot,  then  leaned  heav 
ily  on  his  gun.  "I  hate  ter  tell  ye,  Marcelly,"  he  said  with 
a  low-spirited  cadence.  "  I  hoped  't  war  n't  true." 

"  I  mus'  know,"  she  asserted  insistently. 

"  Waal,"  he  reluctantly  began,  "  they  'lowed  ez  some  o* 
them  '  smart  Alecks '  of  politicians  an'  sech  hed  gin  infor 
mation  ez  thar  war  a  crazy  in  the  county  ez  oughter  be 
restrained  o'  his  liberty."  A  short  exclamation,  little  less 
than  a  scream,  came  from  her  with  an  accent  as  if  it  were 
wrung  forth  by  physical  pain.  "Ef  the  county  court  ap- 
p'ints  the  sher'ff  ter  summons  a  jury  fur  a  inquisition  o' 
lunacy,  an'  they  see  Eli  an'  'low  he  air  insane,  they  think 
they  kin  git  up  perceedin's  ez  will  take  away  his  office." 

She  listened  silently  as  she  stood  holding  the  empty  gourd 
in  her  hand.  He  felt  as  if  he  were  pronouncing  a  sentence 
of  some  terrible  doom,  in  thus  destroying  her  pride.  She 
esteemed  the  humble  office  so  high  and  noble  an  estate,  its 
shattered  incumbent  the  chief  of  men ! 

"  Marcelly,"  he  said,  "  look  here.  No  matter  what  ye 
want  ter  do  'bout'n  it,  ef  ye  kin  do  enny thing,  I  stand  ready 
ter  help.  Promise  me  ye  '11  let  me  know.  Promise  me 
ye '11  let  me  help." 

She  looked  up  at  him.  Her  lips  were  compressed.  Her 
eyes  were  dry  and  steady.  "  Help  !  "  she  echoed  bitterly. 
"  It 's  you-uns  ez  hev  brung  all  this  torment  on  dad.  An' 
now  ye  talk  about '  help.'  It 's  too  late  —  too  late  ter  help." 
Then  she  turned  away. 

He  stood  watching  her  as  she  went ;  her  dull  greenish- 
brown  dress  was  long  visible  against  the  tawny  tints  of  the 
broomsedge  ;  her  head  was  bare,  the  yellow  sun-bonnet  still 
hanging  upon  her  shoulders.  A  leaden  cloud  was  coming 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       393 

down  the  opposite  mountain  side,  rapidly  advancing  across 
the  valley  ;  she  seemed  to  be  going  to  meet  the  storm,  and 
suddenly  it  was  as  if  she  had  been  caught  up  in  it.  The 
sombre  vapors  enfolded  her  ;  there  was  a  swift,  transient, 
ocherons  gleam,  then  she  was  seen  no  more,  and  the  dreary 
sound  of  the  invisible  rain,  falling,  falling  in  the  beclouded 
valley,  filled  all  the  air. 


XXII. 

WHILE  hardly  a  tuft  of  the  broomsedge  stirred  on  the 
red  clay  slopes  of  the  hill,  the  fitful  gusts  were  rioting  in 
the  valley,  and  Teck  Jepson,  standing  in  the  midst  of  the 
tawny  growth,  absently  watched  the  cloud  approaching  in 
the  air,  and  the  dead  leaves  all  set  a-whirling  in  devious 
routes  along  the  brown  ground.  He  heard  in  the  voice  of 
the  wind  the  first  bated  threatenings  of  the  storm,  though 
but  a  murmur,  full  of  latent  strength,  and  with  a  steadily 
increasing  volume  that  bespoke  the  prescient  elation  of  the 
liberated  element,  free  to  come  and  to  go  as  it  listed. 
There  were  occasionally  black  boughs  —  dead,  doubtless, 
brittle,  and  easily  wrenched  from  the  tree,  for  the  wind  had 
not  yet  stretched  its  muscle  —  to  be  seen  thrashing  along 
clumsily  for  a  little  way,  then  falling  to  the  earth,  harried 
up  again  presently  by  the  boisterous  blast,  and  set  a-going 
anew  in  their  simulated  flight. 

Suddenly  the  broomsedge  bowed  down  to  the  ground; 
he  heard  the  forest  quake  ;  the  clouds  were  closing  in,  and, 
with  an  abrupt  realization  that  the  storm  was  upon  him,  he 
caught  the  small  Bob  up  on  his  shoulder  and  ran  for  honLe. 
It  was  a  swift,  short  dash  over  the  broken  ground  against 
the  buffeting  wind,  so  uncertain  of  mood,  now  rollicking, 
now  fierce.  The  little  mountaineer's  gay  laughter  and 
shrieks  of  exhilaration  from  his  lofty  perch  mingled  with 
its  sound,  as  he  clutched  Jepsoivs  collar  and  looked  back  at 
the  wild  rout  behind  them  ;  the  clouds  seeming  to  roll  on 
the  ground,  and  tossed  by  the  turbulent  wind  ;  the  erratic 
flight  of  leaves  and  sticks ;  the  disheveled  woods,  all  their 
boughs  turning  from  the  blast  as  if  holding  out  clepre- 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       395 

eating,  quivering  arms  in  plea  for  mercy.  Even  after  they 
had  reached  the  haven  of  the  porch,  they  heard  once  and 
again  a  wild  aerial  hilarity  echoing  along  the  deep  chasm, 
in  which  the  river  was  locked  as  in  the  isolation  of  a  lake, 
and  anon  a  low,  menacing  roar.  But  the  storm  was  defi 
nitely  angry  when  it  fairly  burst,  and  they  were  housed 
none  to  soon.  The  thunder's  peal  was  augmented  to  even 
alien  ferocity  by  the  reverberations  in  the  rocky  abysses, 
above  the  deeply  sunken  channel  of  the  river ;  the  lightning 
flashed,  tracing  sinister  characters  across  the  black  clouds, 
fading  out  before  one  might  read  this  terrible  script ;  the 
slopes  below  and  the  crags  above  had  disappeared  in  the 
multiplicity  of  the  interposing  lines  of  rain  ;  the  garden, 
sere  and  faded,  save  for  a  forlorn  prince's  feather  here  and 
there  clinging  to  the  stalk,  was  gradually  effaced  from  the 
world,  and  presently  the  mists  were  in  the  porch,  and  be 
ginning  to  sift  in  at  the  open  door.  Jepson  rose  from  be 
fore  the  fire  which  he  had  kindled,  and  shut  them  out,  to 
stand  shivering  there,  or  to  press  pallid  and  white  against 
the  door,  like  some  forlorn  spectral  outcasts,  forbidden  to 
haunt  the  place  which  that  human  love,  which  even  death 
cannot  kill,  makes  them  fain  to  tread  once  more. 

The  white  flames  of  the  pine  knots  leaped  with  glad 
elastic  bounds  up  the  chimney ;  the  shadows  in  the  dark 
corners  shifted  continuously  with  the  glancing  shafts  of 
light.  The  little  house  had  many  tokens  of  its  previous 
occupants  :  a  spinning-wheel,  where  now  only  the  spiders 
drew  out  long,  shining  threads,  stood  in  the  corner ;  sun 
dry  gowns,  all  of  rich,  gay  colors,  despite  their  homely 
material,  garnet,  or  orange,  or  dark  blue,  hung  on  the  wall, 
as  if  Jepson's  mother  had  just  placed  them  there.  Her 
yarn,  in  dusty  hanks,  swung  from  the  rafters,  and  the  quilts 
she  had  "  pieced,"  folded  somewhat  eccentrically,  were  piled 
high  on  the  "  corner-shelf  "  which  they  had  burdened  of  yore. 
Against  the  jamb  of  the  chimney,  on  a  slight  out-jutting  of 
the  clay  and  sticks,  serving  as  shelf,  was  a  great  brown 


390   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

gourd,  half  filled  with  bright-tinted  scraps,  and  buttons, 
and  the  bulbs  of  plants  that  would  never  bloom  now,  but 
should  lie  idle  and  fall  to  dust,  with  all  the  farther  possi 
bilities  of  life  unfulfilled.  In  a  splint  basket  at  one  side  of 
the  fire  lay  a  rough  coat,  worn  and  torn  :  her  needle  had 
rusted  in  the  patch ;  the  coarse  waxed  thread  would  never 
be  drawn  through  and  her  last  sti'tch  completed. 

It  was  for  these  vagaries,  the  preservation  of  the  tokens 
of  the  old  home-life,  that  Mrs.  Bowles  esteemed  Teck  Jepson 
somewhat  '"teched  in  the  head."  Could  she  have  beheld 
the  dust  which  plentifully  covered  them  all,  the  sentiment 
which  she  contemned  would  have  impressed  her  as  but  a  dis 
traught  trifle  in  comparison  with  the  rank  madness  which  she 
would  have  deemed  his  system  of  housekeeping.  Bob,  how 
ever,  gazed  about  with  undisturbed  serenity,  as  he  stood  stur 
dily  on  his  fat  legs  in  the  middle  of  the  floor.  Only  when 
he  turned  about  in  search  of  a  seat  did  his  countenance  fall. 

"  This  air  the  bes'  ez  I  kin  do  fur  ye,  bubby,"  Jepson  re 
marked,  tendering  him  a  full-grown  chair.  "  I  hev  got  no 
leetle  cheers  hyar." 

But  when  Bob's  plump  bulk  had  scaled  the  heights  of  the 
chair,  the  soles  of  his  feet  reaching  but  little  beyond  its 
verge,  and  his  aspect  presenting  a  singular  study  of  fore 
shortening  as  he  sat  and  gazed  at  the  fire,  content  descended 
upon  him  as  before,  and  occasionally  he  glanced  at  Jepson 
with  a  lively  little  grin,  all  his  snaggled  teeth  on  parade, 
confident  of  sympathy  in  his  satisfaction  and  unaffrighted 
freedom.  But  Jepson  could  not  unreservedly  share  this  pla 
cidity.  As  he  sat  opposite,  smoking  his  pipe,  his  reflective 
face  lighted  by  the  fire,  he  observed  :  "  Ye  're  cornsider'ble 
of  a  puzzle,  Bob.  I  dunno  what  I  oughter  do  with  ye.  I 
reckon,  ef  the  truth  war  knowed,  I  oughter  take  ye  up  the 
mounting  ter  yer  mam.  Likely  ez  not  they  air  sarchin'  fur 
ye  now." 

"  No-o,"  returned  Bob,  with  a  resolute  rising  inflection. 
"  I  be  a-goin'  ter  live  in  de  Cove  !  Right  hyar  !  "  And 


THE   DE-POT  Or  BROOMSEDGE    COVE.       397 

he  looked  about  him  with  a  pleased,  adoptive  gaze.  He  had 
heard  Mrs.  Bowles  bemoan  her  sad  fate  in  being  wrested 
away  from  the  Cove,  but  the  naturally  high  opinion  of  the 
locality  which  this  fostered  was  hardly  adequate  to  the  real 
ity,  in  his  estimation,  as  for  the  first  time  in  his  memory  he 
was  within  its  charmed  limits,  resting  in  the  security  of  Jep- 
son's  coveted  companionship. 

The  big  man  would  not  argue  so  unpleasing  a  subject  with 
th3  little  man  ;  he  still  meditatively  smoked,  heedless  of  the 
discursive,  juvenile  babble,  and  answering  only  at  random 
when  a  direct  appeal  was  made  to  him.  Presently  these 
queries  grew  fewer  ;  intervals  of  absolute  silence  ensued  ;  a 
drowsy  mutter,  and  Bob  succumbed  finally  to  the  influences 
of  warmth  and  quiet,  and  the  fatigue  of  his  long  jaunt  down 
the  mountain  before  he  had  met  Jepson  in  the  road.  He 
sat,  or  rather  lay,  in  the  armchair,  his  flushed  round  face 
with  its  happiness  still  upon  it,  as  if  the  sweetness  of  secu 
rity,  of  kindness,  of  the  sense  of  being  held  of  value,  had  per 
vaded  his  dreams.  It  would  have  been  long,  long,  before 
the  faces  of  Sim  and  A'minty  could  have  learned  those 
serene  curves.  But  Bob's  adaptability  had  stood  him  in 
good  stead  hitherto,  and  one  need  hardly  have  wished  him 
more  retentively  sensitive  that  his  little  life  might  have  been 
still  more  dismal  than  it  was.  * 

The  rain  fell  with  dull  monotony  ;  only  at  long  intervals 
a  sudden  acceleration  betokened  a  down-pour  in  sheets,  and 
the  increased  volume  of  the  torrents  washed  with  a  heavy 
splashing  from  the  eaves.  The  sound  was  melancholy, 
full  of  intimations  of  the  waning  year,  of  the  killing  frosts 
to  come.  Even  the  thunder,  ceasing  to  roll,  left  an  un 
welcome  void,  having  been  as  an  incident  to  vary  the 
dreary  sameness  of  sounds  and  suggestions.  The  lightnings 
were  quenched.  The  world  was  given  over  to  the  sobbing 
wind  and  the  sad-voiced  rain.  Jepson  had  no  cheerful 
thoughts  to  beguile  the  idle  hour.  His  heart  was  heavy, 
and  the  further  perspectives  of  the  days  gloomed  full  of 


398       THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOM  SEDGE   COVE. 

shadows.  He  did  not  upbraid  himself ;  he  was  spared  that 
keenest  edge  of  regret,  so  complete  was  his  proud  sense  of 
rectitude,  his  unswerving  faith  in  himself  and  his  own  mo 
tives.  Nor  did  he  resent  Marcella's  anger.  He  admitted 
with  a  deep  sigh  its  justification.  He  accepted  it  as  a  ret 
ribution,  in  some  sort,  not  for  his  own  sins,  but  for  his  un 
intentional  contributive  share,  as  he  construed  it,  in  the 
untoward  circumstances  that  had  resulted  in  Eli  Strobe's  in 
juries.  He  rebelled,  however,  against  his  fate,  this  shipwreck 
of  his  love,  more,  indeed,  than  he  was  definitely  conscious  of 
doing,  for  he  often  boasted  to  himself,  in  the  illusions  of  his 
piety  that  he  meekly  submitted  to  the  Lord's  will,  according 
to  the  example  of  the  saints ;  then  he  would  walk  the  floor 
all  night  in  mental  anguish,  or  wander  forth  in  the  dark, 
autumnal  woods  till  dawn,  in  all  the  throes  of  despair.  Of 
late,  there  had  often  come  into  his  mind  a  bitterness  with 
the  thought  of  her  which  it  had  seldom  before  known.  The 
image  of  the  young  stranger  at  the  forge  was  continually 
associated  with  hers.  His  jealous  eyes  had  been  quick  to 
note  the  changing  expressions  on  her  face,  full  of  fear  for 
Rathburn's  sake,  when  his  strange  absence  had  been  men 
tioned.  Oddly  enough,  Jepson  was  sensible  of  the  glow  of 
anger  that  the  man  she  loved,  if  indeed  she  loved  him,  should 
fail  in  aught  of  bondage ;  he  took  no  satisfaction  in  the 
thought  that  it  was  a  possibility  —  nay,  a  probability  —  that 
Rathburn  did  not  love  her.  He  deprecated  the  pangs  she 
might  feel,  and  still  lie  sighed  for  his  own. 

So  absorbed  was  he  in  these  sombre  meditations,  as  he 
sat,  his  elbow  on  the  arm  of  the  chair,  his  chin  in  his  hand, 
his  contemplative  eyes  upon  the  fire,  that  he  took  no  heed 
of  a  step  on  the  porch  without,  although  he  might  have 
heard  it,  even  through  the  long-drawn  sighing  of  the  wind 
and  the  fresh  outburst  of  the  tumultuous  rain,  for  no  caution 
restrained  its  demonstrations.  The  heavy  stamping  was 
obviously  designed  to  free  first  one  boot  and  then  the  other 
from  the  persistent  clinging  of  the  red  clay  mire.  Only 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       399 

when  the  door  was  unceremoniously  flung  open  from  without 
did  Jepson  rouse  himself  with  a  start,  and  lift  his  head,  see 
ing  at  first  merely  the  white  mist  with  the  lines  of  rain  all 
aslant  across  it,  and  imposed  upon  it  the  figure  of  a  man  at 
the  threshold,  the  wind  tossing  the  loose  ends  of  his  gar- 
monts,  and  the  water  streaming  from  his  bent  old  hat.  For 
a  moment  his  face  was  invisible,  for  the  dull  gray  light  of 
the  beclouded  landscape  was  behind  him ;  but  the  draught 
from  the  opening  door  rekindled  the  coals  of  the  dying  fire, 
and  sent  the  ashes  scattering  about  the  hearth,  and  as  the 
flames  flared  up  they  revealed  the  familiar  features  of  Jake 
Baintree.  Jepson,  rising  slowly  from  his  chair,  experienced 
the  odd  doubting  sensation  that  sometimes  besets  one  in  a 
dream,  when  its  vagaries  so  transcend  the  probabilities  as 
to  rouse  a  skeptical  application  of  verisimilitude  to  these 
airy  fantasies.  The  next  moment  a  definite  appreciation  of 
the  reality  of  his  visitor  asserted  itself.  Jake  Baintree  had 
evicfently  been  drinking  heavily.  But  for  that,  what  he  said 
in  response  to  Jepson 's  query  might  have  seemed  stranger 
than  it  did. 

"  What  did  ye  kem  hyar  fur  ?  "  sternly  demanded  the 
master  of  the  house. 

His  manner  evidently  affected  Baintree,  who  did  not  bear 
himself  with  the  swaggering  freedom  with  which  he  had 
flung  open  the  door.  He  had  looked  threatening.  He  was 
cowed  in  an  instant,  —  cowed,  but  very  crafty. 

**  A-beggin ',"  he  said,  with  a  sudden  light  in  his  eyes.  "  I 
want  a  hunk  o'  bread." 

Jepson  stood  uncertain,  reluctant,  a  frown  knitting  his 
brow,  fairly  coerced  for  once  in  his  life.  It  was  the  only 
plea  that  could  have  restrained  him  from  taking  the  intruder 
by  the  shoulders  and  turning  him  out  of  the  door,  —  the 
only  plea,  and  Baintree  knew  it.  He  could  not  accord  his 
hospitality  as  ungraciously,  perhaps,  as  he  might  have  de 
sired,  and  thus  he  was  forced  into  more  of  a  suave  insincer 
ity  than  had  ever  before  been  able  to  adjust  itself  to  his 


400   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

face  and  manner.  He  turned  toward  a  pine  table,  pushed 
aside  in  one  corner,  and  indicated  certain  dishes  beneath  an 
inverted  wooden  bowl. 

"  Thar  's  all  in  the  house.  He'p  yerse'f,  he'p  yerse'f." 
For  his  life  he  could  not  have  hindered  the  heartiness  of  the 
intonation,  or  the  unreserve  of  the  invitation.  The  habits  of 
a  lifetime,  the  traditions  of  kith  and  kin  and  all  the  country 
side,  constrained  him.  He  did  not  credit  for  an  instant  the 
sincerity  of  Baintree's  demand,  but  none  could  ask  bread 
or  shelter  of  him  in  vain.  It  was  the  first  time  that  the 
unruly  and  absolute  temper  had  been  thus  helplessly  in  the 
control  of  circumstances,  and  he  was  irked  by  a  sense  of 
feigning,  as  he  turned  about  and  threw  a  pile  of  pine  knots 
on  the  fire,  —  for  had  he  care  for  his  guest's  cheer  or 
warmth  ? 

Baintree  had  possessed  himself  of  a  corn-dodger,  and  as 
he  sat  down  before  the  fire,  the  rain  still  trickling  from  his 
garments,  Jepson  read  in  his  thin,  clear-cut  face,  the  elStion 
because  of  the  success  of  his  clever  ruse.  He  had  not  come 
with  the  intention  to  ask  for  bread, — his  manner  at  first 
had  betokened  a  far  more  formidable  errand  ;  and  as  he  sat 
there  munching,  with  a  mimetic  show  of  hunger,  Jepson 
was  moved  to  marvel  anew  what  had  brought  him  into  the 
house  of  a  man  whom  he  held  his  enemy,  and  who  certainly 
was  no  friend. 

"  The  fodder  gins  out  wunst  in  a  while  up  on  the  moun 
ting,"  Bairitree  observed  presently,  the  whiskey  that  he  had 
drunk  imparting  to  him,  despite  his  reticent  habit,  its  char 
acteristic  loquacious  glow.  He  cast  a  glance  of  thinly 
veiled  antagonism  upon  his  entertainer.  Then  he  said,  with 
a  low  chuckle  of  derision,  in  which  he  would  hardly  have 
ventured  to  indulge  at  a  calmer  moment,  "  I  s'pose  things 
never  git  ter  sech  a  pass  ez  that  in  this  house.  Yc  mus' 
hev  a  bar'l  o'  meal  constant  ez  never  gits  empty,  no  matter 
how  high  ye  feed,  an'  a  can  o'  coal-ile  ez  hain't  got  no  bot 
tom  ez  ye  kin  reach.  Surely  the  Lord  faviors  a  man  ez 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.   401 

views  sech  visions  o'  yourn  ez  much  ez  he  done  'Lijah."  He 
hesitated  for  a  moment,  staring  with  bloodshot  eyes  into 
the  fire,  then  snapped  his  fingers.  "  'T  war  n't  'Lijah  !  "  he 
exclaimed,  with  an  air  of  discovery,  —  "  't  war  n't  'Lijah  ! 
'Twar  the  widder  woman  ez  hed  that  mighty  desirable 
brand  o'  meal  an'  ile.  Now,  Teck,"  with  mock  persuasive 
ness,  "  ye  ain't  goin'  ter  tell  me  that,  survigrous  ez  ye  be, 
plumb  captain  o'  all  Brumsaidge  Cove,  ye  hev  let  that  thar 
wiJder  woman  git  ahead  o'  ye  ?  Whar  's  yer  everlastin' 
meal  an  yer  eternal  coal-ile  ?  " 

He  turned  about,  and  affected  to  anxiously  survey  the  cul 
inary  stores,  scanty  enough,  arrayed  on  a  hanging  shelf  sus 
pended  from  the  rafters,  and,  thus  isolated,  protected  from 
the  rats  and  the  mice. 

He  enjoyed  the  immunity  from  retort  or  retaliation  which 
men  accord  to  the  drunken,  and  which  is  incomprehensible 
to  the  more  intolerant  temperament  of  womeii.  Jepson 
steadfastly  regarded  him  in  silence,  and  as  Baintree  turned 
again  to  the  fire  he  seemed,  in  shifting  his  position,  to  have 
forgotten  his  jeer  and  the  prospective  joy  with  which  he  had 
thought  to  pursue  it.  A  realization  of  the  situation  came 
upon  him  anew,  and  he  made  haste  to  gnaw  at  his  corn 
dodger  with  an  affectation  of  great  hunger. 

"  I  'rn  mighty  glad  ter  git  it,"  he  mumbled. 

Jepson  had  resumed  his  seat,  and,  with  the  white  glow  of 
the  blazing  pine  knots  irradiating  his  serious  face,  he  de 
manded,  "  Whar  's  the  man  ez  war  bidin'  with  ye  ?  That 
corn-dodger  ez  ye  air  eatin'  ain't  goin'  ter  holp  him." 

"  He  '11  make  out.  He  ain't  one  o'  the  lackin'  kind," 
Baintree  responded  cavalierly. 

The  heat  of  the  fire  perhaps  aided  the  heady  effect  of  his 
potations,  for  he  was  presently  more  definitely  intoxicated 
than  before.  Few  people  had  ever  seen  him  thus  affected  ; 
for  though  he  drank  deeply  at  times,  the  quantity  that  would 
set  another  man  reeling  hardly  disturbed  his  equilibrium. 
The  fiery  courage  distilled  from  the  corn  was  in  his  veins 
now,  and  showed  with  a  sturdy  bravado. 


402    THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

"  I  'm  leavin'  the  kentry,  Teck,"  he  exclaimed  suddenly. 
"  I  'm  leavin'  this  hyar  twisted  an'  turmoiled  e-end  o'  the 
world  ye  call  the  mountings.  I  hope  never  ter  see  a  mound 
o'  groun'  agin  higher 'n  this  hat.  I  fund  out  what  pore 
shakes  the  mountings  air  jes'  through  goin  ter  —  ter  "  —  his 
voice  faltered  ;  his  eyes  were  fixed  intently  on  the  empty 
space  before  them,  as  if  he  beheld  something  there  invisible 
to  others  ;  he  made  a  detour  around  the  word  "  jail,"  and 
went  on  with  an  air  of  triumphant  inspiration  in  this  obvious 
device  —  "  through  visitin'  a  sure-enough  town.  An'  I 
never  want  ter  see  a  mound  o'  groun'  more  'n  two  inches 
high  agin  —  'thout  it  air  yer  grave." 

He  paused  abruptly,  turning  his  bloodshot  eyes  instantly 
upon  Jepson  to  observe  the  effect  of  his  words. 

The  acrid  tone,  the  bitter  hatred  in  his  face,  made  a  strong 
impression  upon  the  man  who  had  inspired  them,  now  that 
he  was  constrained  to  be  still  and  observe  the  demonstra 
tions,  which,  for  sheer  humanity's  sake,  he  could  not  resent. 
He  looked  down  meditatively  into  the  fire.  It  was  odd  to 
him  to  think  of  his  grave,  —  some  scant  measure  of  earth 
surely  waiting  for  him  somewhere,  on  which  the  weeds  had 
grown  apace  this  summer,  and  even  now  the  autumn  rains 
beat  unrelenting,  as  the  herbage  would  thrive  and  the  tor 
rents  fall  when  he  should  lie  unheeding  below,  —  strange  to 
think  of  these  things,  with  the  robust  pulses  a-throb  in  his 
blood. 

"  When  ye  see  it,"  he  said,  with  the  steady  courage  and 
calm  strength  which  seemed  to  him,  half  consciously  meas 
uring  their  power,  an  expression  of  piety  and  spiritual  grace 
and  Christian  resignation,  "  ef  ever  ye  do,  remember  the 
man  it  kivers  war  mighty  willin'  ter  lie  down  thar  wherist 
summoned." 

Baintree  winced.  Even  when  intoxicated  he  had  not  the 
faith  in  himself  to  vie  with  this  hardihood.  He  resorted  to 
recrimination,  for  still  the  whiskey  made  him  bold. 

"  Ye  ain't  goin'  ter  be  so  powerful  comfortable  thar.     Ye 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOM-SEDGE  COVE.   403 

ain't  goin'  ter  rest  so  easy  in  yer  grave.  The  devil  ain't 
goin'  ter  let  ye  alone.  Ye  '11  hev  ter  answer  in  the  nex'  worl' 
fur  all  ye  hev  done  ter  me  in  this.  Ye  '11  answer,  —  ye  mark 
my  words." 

Tears  of  maudlin  grief  stood  in  his  eyes.  Despite  their 
source,  Jepson  melted  to  them  in  some  sort. 

"  I  'm  willin'.  I  hain't  shirked  none  in  this  woiT.  I  reckon 
I  ain't  goin'  ter  ketch  the  complaint  of  shirkin'  in  the  nex'. 
I  '11  answer.  What  ye  want  me  ter  answer  fur  ?  " 

"  Fur  my  soul,"  said  Baintree  solemnly.  "  I  'd  hev  saved 
my  soul  alive  ef  —  ef  ye  hed  n't  kem  a-interferin'  'twixt  me 
an'  pa'son,  and  kep'  me  from  washin'  my  sins  away." 

Jepson  seemed  to  take  meditative  account  of  the  charge. 

"  I  done  accordin'  ter  my  conscience,  ez  the  voice  o'  the 
Lord  'peared  ter  lead.  Ye  hed  no  right  in  the  fold,  an'  arter 
I  fund  Sam'l  Keale's  hat  an'  coat  I  could  not  hold  my  peace. 
Jestice  hed  overlooked  ye,  but  I  spoke  the  word  ;  not  in 
malice,  ef  I  know  myse'f,  —  not  in  malice.  But  ef  I  hev 
done  wrong,"  he  went  on,  knitting  his  hrows  and  gazing  into 
the  fire,  his  arms  folded  across  his  breast,  "  I  pray  the  Lord 
will  visit  it  on  me.  I  pray  he  '11  do  sech  unto  me,  an'  mo'." 

Baintree  was  stricken  mute  for  a  moment,  vaguely  im 
pressed  by  his  companion's  look  and  manner.  Then  his  at 
tention  was  concentrated  anew  upon  his  own  grievance. 

"  That  ain't  goin'  ter  do  me  no  good  "  —  he  began. 

"An'  no  harm,"  said  Jepson.  "  Nuthin'  kin  hurt  ye 
'ceptin'  what  ye  do  yerse'f." 

Baintree  looked  with  dark  suspicion  over  his  shoulder. 

"  What  ails  ye  ter  say  that  ?  "  he  demanded  surlily. 

Jepson  did  not  reply  directly. 

u  Ef  a  man  air  persecuted,  an'  air  innercent  o'  crime,  his 
persecutors  air  jes'  harryin*  tharselves  ter  hell.  An'  that 's 
the  long  an'  the  short  o'  it.  Ef  ye  hev  done  no  crime,  sech 
steps  ez  I  tuk  agin  ye  hev  hurt  me,  not  you-uns,  an'  I  '11  hev 
ter  take  'em  back'ards  in  hell." 

There  was  no  arguing  with  a  faith  so  very  complete,  so 
strongly  grounded,  as  this. 


404   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

Baintree  said  nothing  for  a  time.  Then  he  suddenly 
broke  out  as  if  the  words  were  wrenched  from  him  by  some 
physical  anguish  which  he  could  not  resist :  — 

"  I  never  hed  no  han'  in  Keale's  takin'-off,  but  I  mought 
ez  well,  —  oh,  my  Lord,  I  mought  ez  well !  " 

He  clasped  his  hands  and  wrung  them  hard,  the  poor  sub 
terfuge  of  the  corn-dodger  falling  unheeded  on  the  floor. 

The  shrill  tones  did  not  rouse  the  plump  Bob,  still  asleep 
in  the  chair  at  one  side  of  the  fire,  but  he  was  vaguely  con 
scious  of  them,  and  stirred  uneasily,  and  again  relapsed  into 
motionless  slumber. 

"  Look  hyar  !  "  exclaimed  Jepson,  agitated  and  excited. 
"  Don't  kem  hyar  an'  tell  me  yer  crimes  over  my  own  h'a'th- 
stone  an'  a-eatin'  of  my  bread,  fur  I  '11  use  'em  agin  ye.  I  '11 
turn  the  sword  on  ye.  I  ain't  yer  frien',  man.  I  never  war." 

"Ye  war  the  t'other  night  at  the  forge."  Baintree  had 
hastily  recovered  himself.  He  spoke  in  his  natural  voice,  a 
trifle  more  unctuous,  perhaps,  with  its  coaxing  intonation. 
He  even  stooped  down  and  picked  up  the  bit  of  bread,  care 
fully  dusting  the  ashes  from  it  as  he  turned  it  from  side  to 
side.  "  Ye  war  the  t'other  night,  whenst  —  whenst  my 
partner  seen  ye  at  the  forge.  Ye  kep'  them  men  off'n  us." 

"  An'  ye  'low  I  done  sech  ez  that  fur  you-uns,  or  him 
either,  ye  fool  ? "  Jepson  had  risen.  He  had  thrust  his 
hand  into  his  leather  belt  and  was  looking  down  upon  Bain 
tree  with  scornful  irritation.  "  I  done  it  fur  right  an'  jestice  ! 
I  see  no  harm  in  yer  sarchin'  fur  silver  ;  an'  though  't  war  n't 
right  ter  work  on  the  sly  in  the  forge,  it  air  a  leetle  matter, 
not  wuth  harmin'  a  man  for.  'T  war  kase  I  fund  no  harm 
—  no  harm,  'cordin'  ter  my  light  —  in  them  actions.  These 
Brumsaidge  critters  "  —  he  broke  off  abruptly,  addressing 
himself  instead  of  Baintree,  and  speaking  of  Broomsedge 
as  if  he  had  a  wide  experience  of  men  and  life  elsewhere, 
when  he  knew  scarcely  any  creature  beyond  its  limits  — 
"  these  Brumsaidge  critters  can't  sense  right  an'  jestice,  nor 
nuthin'  done  fur  jestice's  sake.  That 's  jes'  what  them  men 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.   405 

at  the  barn  'lowed,  — frien's  ter  the  two,  the  stranger  an' 
Baintree  !  But  I  tell  ye,"  —  he  turned  suddenly  upon  the 
man  sitting  by  the  hearth,  —  "  I  ain't  yer  frien',  nor,"  he 
added,  with  stronger  emphasis,  "  his  frien',  nuther." 

Baintree's  face  had  lightened ;  his  eyes  glittered.  It  was 
a  forlorn  thing  that  a  man  should  have  cause  to  rejoice  at 
his  enemy's  misfortune  in  being  suspected  of  becoming  his 
friend. 

Jepson  had  not  resumed  his  chair.  He  still  stood  on  the 
hearth,  one  hand  in  his  leather  belt,  which  supported  his 
hunting-knife,  of  which  he  had  not  yet  divested  himself,  the 
other  on  the  high  mantelpiece.  He  looked  down  with  scowl 
ing  impatience  at  Baintree,  evidently  eager  to  be  rid  of  him, 
and  presently  he  addressed  himself  to  accomplish  this  end 
without  too  flagrant  a  breach  of  the  hospitality  which  he 
held  dear. 

He  had  offered  him  something  else  to  eat,  and  when  this 
had  been  declined  he  demanded  suddenly,  "  What  ailed  ye, 
ter  kem  hyar  this  evenin'  ?  Ye  know  ye  war  n't  in  no  wise 
hongry." 

"  I  war  drunk.  That  air  the  only  reason  I  know,"  said 
Baintree  gloomily.  He  was  becoming  in  some  sort  sober 
now,  and  was  strangely  quiet,  with  a  deep  despondency  of 
manner. 

"  Air  ye  leavin'  the  kentry  fur  true  ?  "  queried  Jepson. 

Baintree  looked  up  craftily. 

"  Naw !  "  he  exclaimed  contemptuously,  as  if  the  sugges 
tion  had  been  broached  by  another  than  himself.  "  Whar 
would  I  go  —  an'  who  would  I  go  to  —  an'  what  would  I  do 
thar  ?  Naw  !  I  'm  goin'  ter  stay  hyar  ter  be  treated  like 
a  dog,  ez  I  always  war.  I  hed  a  man  ter  kem  nigh  chokin' 
me,  not  long  ago  "  —  he  bared  his  throat  to  show  his  bruises 
—  %<  look-a-hyar,  — an'  he  'd  hev  'lowed  ez  I  war  crazy  ef  / 
lied  lifted  a  hand  agin  him." 

Jepson  was  silent,  still  meditating  the  feasibility  of  rid 
ding  himself  of  his  unwelcome  guest  without  violence  to 
the  canons  of  hospitality. 


40 G       THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOM  SEDGE   COVE. 

He  had  hardly  noticed  when  the  rain  ceased  its  tumultu 
ous  beat  on  the  roof  ;  a  fresh  relay  of  winds  was  speeding 
down  and  down  the  valley;  he  heard,  but  absently,  the 
snorting  and  champing  of  these  aerial  chargers  as  they 
swept  by  at  a  tremendous  pace  ;  the  clouds  were  fain  to  race 
with  them,  for  presently  he  saw  upon  the  wet  floor  of  the 
room,  where  the  rain  had  splashed  in  under  the  door,  the 
reflection  of  the  yellow  glare  of  the  unveiled  sky  throwing 
its  light  upon  the  brown  walls,  and,  albeit  faintly,  even  to 
the  dusky  rafters.  Jepson  strode  to  the  door  and  flung  it 
open.  As  he  stood  with  his  back  toward  Baintree,  he  had 
one  of  those  sudden  premonitions,  so  conclusive,  yet  so  illog 
ical,  that  fall  upon  us  sometimes  with  the  cogent  force  of 
truth  and  an  unaccountable  extension  of  merely  human 
mental  vision.  He  turned  abruptly  and  saw  its  confirma 
tion  in  the  lowering  look  of  hatred  that  Baintree  had  bent 
upon  hint.  As  if  in  some  sort  conscious  of  self-betrayal, 
Baintree  rose  with  a  casual  air  and  an  incidental,  empty 
glance,  and  followed  to  the  door,  where  he  lounged  upon 
the  porch,  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  aimlessly  surveying 
the  landscape.  Yet  Jepson  knew  now,  as  well  as  if  Bain 
tree  had  confessed  it,  that  he  had  come  there,  with  the 
courage  of  the  "  corn-juice  "  inflaming  his  blood,  with  some 
wild  drunken  scheme  of  violence  and  vengeance,  which  the 
presence  or  the  words  of  his  intended  victim  had  somehow 
cowed  and  crushed.  They  were  silent  as  they  contemplated 
the  great  flaring  west,  all  a  splendid  burnished  golden  glow, 
above  the  darkly  purple  mountain  opposite,  its  summit  im 
posed  with  a  definite  detail,  in  which  every  tufted,  plumy 
pine  top  was  distinct,  upon  the  vivid  yellow  emblazonment. 
About  the  slopes  white  mists  were  slowly  creeping,  and  down 
in  the  chasm  the  waters  of  the  river,  with  all  the  graces  of 
reflection,  ran  in  molten  golden  currents.  Clouds  were  yet 
in  the  sky,  but  now  and  again  the  colors  of  the  iris  flashed 
out,  with  a  swift  elasticity  as  of  a  bow  that  is  bent,  and 
hovered  above  the  valleys.  The  drops  still  fell  slowly  from 


THE  DESPOT  OF  DROOMSEDGE  COVE.   407 

the  eaves  of  the  house,  and  the  flooring  of  the  porch  was 
sodden  and  sleek  with  the  rain  ;  in  the  hollow  of  a  warped 
plank  the  water  stood  still  as  in  a  bowl,  reflecting  the  clap 
boards  above,  and  an  empty  nest  in  a  niche  between  the 
roof  and  the  post  of  the  porch.  All  the  colors  of  wood 
and  hill  were  clarified  and  heightened ;  the  sere  grasses, 
beaten  down  though  they  were,  wore  their  brown  and  straw 
and  amber  tints  more  jauntily ;  the  boles  of  the  tree's  were 
black,  and  somehow  the  distances  seemed  clear  and  brought 
near.  Jepson  had  not  thought  he  could  have  seen  so  defi 
nitely,  so  far  away,  the  figure  of  a  man  slowly  strolling 
along  the  red  clay  road,  —  of  a  richer  and  deeper  color  it 
was,  sodden  with  the  rain.  The  presence  of  the  figure  in 
timated  that  the  storm  had  subsided  less  recently  than  he 
had  thought ;  the  weight  of  the  down-pour  had  beaten  the 
ground  hard,  and  had  added  but  little  to  the  mud  here  and 
there  in  deep,  tough  masses  in  the  centre  of  the  road. 

He  made  no  move  to  turn  back  into  the  house,  yet  Bain- 
tree  lingered,  as  if  his  mission  were  but  half  accomplished. 
It  is  difficult  to  conceive  of  a  more  indelible  expression  of 
gloom  than  had  fixed  upon  his  face.  It  indicated  a  misery 
and  hopelessness  past  all  human  help,  past  all  human  en 
durance.  Jepson  spoke  suddenly  upon  an  impulse  which  he 
hardly  understood. 

"  Enny  time  ye  feel  ez  ef  the  devil  war  arter  ye,  Jake,  ef 
ye  '11  kem  hyar  ter  me,  I  ?11  liolp  stave  him  off."  he  said.  He 
hesitated  for  a  moment,  for  Baintree's  bright,  rat-like,  furtive 
eye  was  glancing  up  at  him,  informed  by  a  spirit  so  alien  to 
that  which  animated  his  words  that  it  almost  silenced  them. 
"  I  hev  been  agin  ye,"  he  went  on  presently  ;  "  ye  know  I 
hev.  I  always  b'lieved  mos'  faithful  ez  ye  killed  Sam'l 
Keale.  But  the  jury  say  ye  did  n't,  an'  the  kentry  hev 
abided  by  the  verdic'.  An'  ef  ye  order  yer  walk  aright  an' 
do  no  mo'  harm,  I  711  stan'  by  ye  an'  won't  see  ye  persecuted, 
—  though  I  ain't  yer  frien',  an'  I  never  will  be." 

Baintree's  expression  had  shifted  more  than  once  during 


408   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

this  speech  :  it  had  softened,  had  become  wistful,  pathetic, 
but  it  hardened  suddenly,  as  the  last  words  fell  on  the  air. 

"  An'  who  air  ter  be  the  jedge  o'  what 's  harm,  an'  what 
ain't  ?  "  he  asked  with  a  sneer. 

"  I  am,"  said  Jepson,  with  his  unswerving  faith  in  his  own 
methods.  "  I  dunno  no  way  ter  jedge  o'  right  an'  wrong 
'cept  by  the  light  ez  kerns  from  within." 

"  An'  ye  air  the  only  one  it 's  shed  on,  eh  ?  "  demanded 
Baintree,  still  bitterly  sneering. 

"  Ye  hev  got  good  reason  ter  think  so.  The  light  lately 
shed  on  other  folks,  'bout'n  you-uns  an'  yer  pardner,  would 
be  a  mighty  scorchin'  light,  sartain,"  Jepson  retorted  signifi 
cantly. 

Baintree  understood  him  to  allude  to  the  wrangling  differ 
ences  with  the  vigilantes  in  the  barn.  A  prudential  after 
thought  roused  his  suavity. 

"  Waal,"  he  observed,  after  a  pause,  "  I  never  'lowed  ye 
war  my  frien'.  I  '11  say  one  thing  fur  ye,  —  thar  ain't  no 
room  fur  mistakes  ez  ter  whar  ye  stand.  But  I  be  toler'ble 
glad  ez  ye  hev  a  mind  ter  keep  them  painters  an'  wild 
wolves  off'n  my  track.  Will  ye  gimme  yer  ban'  on  it?  " 

He  held  out  his  own,  bent  on  confirming  the  promise,  as 
far  as  he  might. 

Once  more  a  pang  of  pity  stirred  Jepson's  heart,  albeit  he 
looked  down  with  a  certain  repulsion  upon  the  long,  trem 
bling  fingers  awaiting  his  own.  u  Cordin'  ter  the  conditions, 
—  ef  ye  do  no  mo'  harm  in  my  jedgmint."  And  his  strong, 
warm  clasp  closed  upon  Baintree's  cold,  nerveless  hand  for 
an  instant,  in  sanction  of  the  promise. 

The  touch  of  that  cold,  nerveless  hand  remained  strangely 
within  Jepson's  palm  after  the  two  had  separated,  for  Bain- 
tree's  perverse  reluctance  to  be  off  had  evaporated,  somehow, 
in  the  open  air,  and  he  slouched  out  of  the  inclosure,  tak 
ing  his  way,  strangely  enough,  Jepson  thought,  down  to  the 
banks  of  the  river,  instead  of  up  the  mountain  to  his  lair 
there,  which  he  could  hardly  hope  to  reach,  as  it  was,  before 


THE   DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       409 

the  night  should  enfold  him.  Jepson  stood  aimlessly  watch 
ing  him,  feeling  the  touch  of  his  hand  still  cold  and  clammy 
within  his  own.  Even  after  the  rock  and  the  laurel  of  the 
steep  slope  had  interposed,  and  he  saw  him  no  more,  he 
still  motionlessly  gazed  at  the  spot  where  he  had  disap 
peared,  a  sense  of  discontent  with  himself  to  which  he  was 
a  stranger,  an  irritated,  angry  regret  for  he  hardly  knew 
what  in  the  interview,  pervading  all  his  consciousness. 

"  I  lack  the  sperit,"  he  said  suddenly.  "  I  need  ter  be 
made  strong.  I  gits  sorry  fur  that  wuthless  trash,  ez  be 
held  tergether  ter  look  like  a  man,  a-purpose,  I  reckon,  for 
the  devil  ter  beguile  me.  I  gits  ter  feelin'  sorry  an'  pitiful 
ter  him.  An'  I  knowed  that  man  would  hev  stabbed  me 
ef  he  could  'thout  harmin'  hisse'f,  —  I  knowed  it  whenst  I 
turned  my  back,  —  an'  stidder  speakin'  out  what  war  re 
vealed  ter  me,  an'  taxin  him  with  the  crime  he  would  hev 
done,  I  gin  him  bread,  an'  promised  ter  purtec'  him,  an' 
shuk  ban's  on  it,  ef  he  would  walk  right  afore  the  law  hyar- 
af  ter.  What  ails  me  ter  keer  ?  I  need  strengthening 
—  strengthenin'  from  above." 

Despite  his  absorption  he  was  moved  to  note,  presently, 
with  a  pervasive  sense  of  pleasure,  how  fresh,  how  soft,  the 
air  was.  As  he  looked  about,  he  noticed  again  the  man 
whom  he  had  observed  some  time  ago  walking  along  the  red 
clay  road.  A  slow  pedestrian,  certainly  ;  it  was  almost  incon 
ceivable  that  he  had  been  walking  at  all,  since  his  progress 
had  carried  him  so  short  a  distance.  Jepson  gazed  at  him 
with  curiosity.  He  might  have  recognized  him,  the  light 
was  so  clear,  had  not  the  man  at  that  moment  drawn  his 
broad  hat  far  down  over  his  brow,  and  then  he  turned  about 
and  began  to  retrace  his  way. 

Before  he  was  out  of  sight  the  incident  had  passed  from 
Jepson's  mind.  The  freshness  of  the  air  was  alluring,  re 
vivifying.  He  hesitated  as  he  glanced  over  his  shoulder 
at  the  recumbent  Bob,  asleep  in  the  chair  before  the  smoul 
dering  fire  ;  then,  without  his  hat,  he  strolled  down  the  path, 
leaving  the  door  open  behind  him. 


410   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

He  paused  in  the  weed-tangled  garden,  with  its  bent  and 
beaten  growths  forlorn  for  the  desertion  of  the  summer, 
the  sport  of  the  ruder  season,  and,  standing  with  his  elbow 
on  the  topmost  rail  of  the  fence,  looked  meditatively  at  the 
golden  glamours  of  the  rock-bound  river.  He  had  not  in 
tended  to  go  farther,  and  presently  he  turned  ;  lie  came  to 
a  sudden  halt,  and  gazed  with  keen,  narrowing  eyes  up  the 
slope  of  the  hill. 

The  man  whom  he  had  seen  walking  along  the  red  clay 
road  was  long  ago  gone,  —  a  tall  man  and  slight,  as  he  re 
membered  the  figure,  ail  unlike  the  one  whom  he  now  saw 
threading  his  way  slowly  among  the  bowlders  on  the  steep 
incline  above  the  cabin.  As  the  pedestrian  emerged  pres 
ently  upon  a  comparatively  open  space,  Jepson  noted  a  cer 
tain  burly  dignity  in  his  carriage,  which  even  at  the  distance 
served  to  identify  him. 

Jepson  started  forward  ;  then  paused.  He  had  not  spoken 
to  Eli  Strobe  since  the  day  of  the  election,  when  they  had  con 
ferred  together  in  the  interests  of  the  constable's  candidacy, 
and  his  heart  had  beat  with  an  intense  partisan  anxiety  for 
Marcella's  sake.  He  began  to  appreciate  definitely  how  much 
he  had  felt  since  then  of  love,  and  hope,  and  despair ;  how 
hard  they  had  all  gone  with  him.  He  was  ill-suited  to  re- 
linquishment.  His  domineering,  intolerant  spirit  had  been 
scantily  acquainted  with  denial.  "  I  'm  goin'  ter  die  power 
ful  hard,"  lie  said  in  gloomy  forecast.  It  seemed  to  him 
that  he  had  felt  already  prescient  pangs.  As  his  eyes  fol 
lowed  Strobe's  progress,  he  protested  inwardly  against  a 
sort  of  humiliation  to  realize  that  he  scarcely  cared  to  ac 
cost  him,  and  hear  from  him  the  reproaches  so  cruel  on  his 
daughter's  lips.  Jepson  had  not  a  keen  self-discernment, 
but  he  knew  his  imperious  entity  too  well  to  believe  him 
self  capable  of  receiving  these  bitter  words  from  others 
with  a  like  patience  and  acquiescence.  That  the  injury  to 
Eli  Strobe  was  an  accident,  through  no  fault  of  his7  was 
instantly  formulated  in  his  consciousness  with  the  vividness 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOM  SEDGE  COVE.   411 

of  a  retort,  as  he  forecast  the  constable's  upbraidings. 
Still  he  hesitated.  Suddenly,  with  a  new  thought,  he  started 
up  the  slope.  He  had  hardly  credited  hitherto  the  report 
of  Eli  Strobe's  insanity,  and  he  knew  nothing  of  the  char 
acter  of  his  delusion.  Could  it  be  that  some  fantastic  va 
gary  was  luring  him  on  amidst  the  bowlders,  and  the  crags, 
and  the  mists  of  the  dusk  ?  Jepson  had  it  in  his  mind  to 
do  a  service.  He  suspected  that  Strobe  had  escaped  from 
the  careful  guards  of  the  fireside  circle.  As  he  approached, 
climbing  among  the  crags,  he  wondered  that  he  had  not  yet 
been  observed,  yet  he  forbore  to  hail  his  old  friend.  With 
the  knowledge  of  the  failure  of  his  mental  faculties  was  the 
vague,  unreasoning  impression  of  the  impairment  of  the 
senses.  He  felt  as  if  Eli  Strobe  might  not  hear  his  ringing 
halloo. 

Thus  it  was  that,  as  the  earth  grew  darker  and  yet  more 
shadowy,  though  still  the  sky  flared  above,  albeit  dulling 
from  its  burning  golden  hue  to  a  deep  copper  tint  with  hor 
izontal  bars  of  red,  while  the  river  ran  blood,  Eli  Strobe, 
turning  a  curve  in  the  road  about  the  base  of  a  cliff,  came 
abruptly  upon  Jepson  standing  in  an  open  space,  motionless, 
expectant,  silent,  bareheaded.  The  lurid  flare  of  the  skies 
flung  its  unnatural  light  upon  Jepson's  face.  He  winced  as 
he  had  never  thought  to  do,  for  the  doughty  constable  turned 
suddenly  half  round,  and  held  up  a  quivering  arm  before 
his  eyes,  as  if  to  shut  out  the  sight  or  to  ward  off  a  blow. 

Jepson  spoke  instantly,  hurt  and  angry  :  — 

"  Ye  hev  got  no  call  ter  treat  me  that-a-way,  Eli.  Ye  hev 
never  lied  no  call  ter  be  afeard  o'  me." 

The  constable  had  forgotten  his  threat  of  serving  papers 
on  "  a  harnt."  He  trembled  violently.  He  could  hardly 
stand.  He  tottered  to  a  bowlder  near  by,  and  sat  down. 
As  he  hesitatingly  looked  up  at  Jepson  and  cast  his  eyes 
down  once  more,  there  was  visible  in  his  expression  a  sur 
prise  that  his  old  friend  should  still  be  standing  there. 

"  I  hev  always  wished  ye  well,"  Jepson  declared,  with  a 
swelling  heart. 


412   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

"  Thanky,  sir,  thanky  kindly,"  said  Eli  Strobe,  with  a 
faltering  tongue  and  uncharacteristic  humility. 

Jepson  detected  something  in  the  tone  which  he  did  not 
understand.  He  cast  a  sharp  glance  at  his  interlocutor  as 
he  demanded,  "  Don't  ye  know  me  ?  "  fearing  that  Strobe's 
mental  derangement  included  a  failure  of  recognition  of 
familiar  things  and  faces. 

"  Oh,  mighty  well,  mighty  well  indeed,"  the  constable 
hastened  to  assure  him. 

There  was  a  momentary  silence.  Jepson  hardly  compre 
hended  the  restraint  which  irked  him.  Whatever  of  pain 
he  had  anticipated  in  the  interview,  he  had  never  expected 
aught  like  this.  He  noticed  that  Strobe  more  than  once 
cast  his  eyes  down  the  long  winding  curves  of  the  red  clay 
road,  stretching  so  far  under  the  metallic  lustre  of  that 
darkly  yellow  sky.  The  constable  was,  however,  too  heavy 
a  man  to  attempt  flight,  too  far  spent  by  the  agitation  that 
rent  his  breath  and  heaved  in  his  broad  chest.  His  judg 
ment  was  still  very  excellent,  and  he  adjusted  himself  anew 
on  the  bowlder. 

"  Ef  I  ain't  wanted,"  said  Jepson,  with  a  flare  of  his 
wonted  arrogant  spirit,  "  say  the  word,  an'  I  '11  make  my- 
se'f  sca'ce.  I  jes'  'lowed,  though,  ez  mebbe  ye  mought  hev 
a  mind  fur  a  few  words,  bein'  ez  ye  an'  me  war  always 
frien'ly  tergether.  But  I  ain't  one  ter  want  ter  bide  whar 
I  hev  no  place." 

Eli  Strobe's  face  could  hardly  have  expressed  more  defi 
nitely  than  it  did  his  relief  at  this  intimation  that  the  termi 
nation  of  the  interview  was  subject  to  his  wishes.  He  was, 
however,  bent  on  insuring  this  if  civility  might  suffice.  In 
all  his  political  experience  he  had  never  shown  more  suavity 
than  now,  when  he  said,  with  tremulous  haste,  — 

u  I  'm  obligated  by  yer  comp'ny,  sir."  Then  he  added,  in 
a  more  natural  tone,  "  I  hev  been  wonderin'  a  heap  'bout'n 
ye  lately,  —  I  hev  been  studyin'  'bout'n  ye  mighty  nigh  all 
the  time." 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.   413 

"Nobody  hev  tole  me  that,"  said  Jepson,  wondering  to 
find  him  so  friendly,  and  still  struggling  with  that  vague, 
undiscriminated  restraint  that  hampered  the  conversation. 

"  I  reckon  nobody  else  hev  viewed  ye,"  Eli  Strobe  said 
quickly,  not  without  a  certain  anxiety.  Ambition  was  an 
elastic  passion  in  his  breast.  He  was  already  piquing  him 
self  upon  his  unique  opportunity,  forgetting  Rathburn's  ex 
perience. 

Jepson  keenly  felt  the  obvious  fact  that  Marcella  never 
mentioned  him  at  home.  But  it  was  only  another  pang, 
and  he  said  doggedly  to  himself  that  he  knew  so  many 
pangs,  another  might  hardly  matter.  He  did  not  answer  di 
rectly.  He  said  presently,  — 

"  What  war  ye  a-woriderin'  'bout  ?  " 

"  Ef — ef"  —  said  Eli  Strobe,  a  keen  curiosity  glancing 
out  from  under  the  brim  of  his  hat,  contending  with  a  fear 
of  giving  offense  —  '•  ef  ye  ever  'sociate  now  with  them 
folks  ye  useter  be  so  tuk  up  with,  G'liath,  an'  David,  an' 
Sol'mon,  an'  them." 

Jepson  hesitated. 

"  I  would  n't  call  it  'sociatin'  "  —  he  paused  —  "  not  ed- 
zac'ly." 

"  They  be  sorter  stuck  up,  eh  ?"  said  Eli  Strobe,  with  a 
grin  of  relish.  "  I  never  did  b'lieve  ez  worldly  pride  dies 
out  'fore  ye  git  ter  the  nex'  worl'.  It 's  the  main  part  o* 
some  folks.  It 's  all  the  soul  they  hev  got,  thar  pride,  — 
the  rest  is  body." 

Jepson,  dazed  somewhat  by  the  queer  turn  the  conversa 
tion  had  taken,  stood  silent,  till  he  was  suddenly  interro 
gated  anew. 

"  Do  ye  set  ez  much  store  on  Sol'mon  ez  ye  useter?  " 

u  I  hev  hed  no  call  ter  change  my  mind,"  Jepson  replied 
wonderingly,  for  the  eagerness  of  Strobe's  interest  in  gossip 
ing  of  these  antique  worthies  was  very  fresh  and  immediate. 

"  Smart  man  ? "  Strobe  nodded  his  own  head  as  he 
asked  the  question,  willing  to  be  convinced. 


414   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

"  That  ain't  the  word  fur  it,"  said  Jepson,  the  fascination 
of  the  subject  reasserting  itself  even  in  this  stress  of  anx 
iety,  "  I  hev  been  study  in'  a  heap  lately  'bout  the  house 
he  built "  — 

"  Thar,  now,  what  did  I  tell  ye  'bout  pride  ?  "  Eli  Strobe 
broke  in.  "  I  '11  be  bound  Sol'mon  kerried  the  mem'ry  o' 
that  thar  house  o'  his'n  plumb  ter  the  house  not  built  with 
hands ;  an'  he  ain't  the  fust  ez  clings  ter  worldly  deeds,  an' 
I  '11  be  bound  he  won't  be  the  las'."  He  paused,  with  a 
sudden  look  of  consciousness  on  his  face.  The  parallel  was 
too  patent  to  escape  the  notice  of  so  clever  a  man,  ignorant 
though  be  was.  He  was  realizing  that  the  important  pride 
incident  to  the  office  of  constable  of  Broomsedge  Cove  was 
hardly  meet  equipment  to  bear  to  the  golden  shores.  Bat  he 
was  sturdily  hopeful.  "  I  '11  cure  myself  o'  that  'fore  I  land 
on  the  further  side  o'  Jordan,"  he  muttered  to  himself  with 
a  chuckle,  for  the  humorous  suggestions  of  the  prospect  did 
not  altogether  escape  him.  "  I  ain't  goin'  ter  cut  no  comical 
figger  'mongst  the  saints  through  pride  o'  bein'  constable  o' 
Brumsaidge.  Naw,  sir  !  Pa'son  an'  me  hev  got  ter  winnow 
me  o'  that  sure." 

The  parson  might  have  esteemed  it  a  more  difficult  task, 
but  Eli  Strobe,  with  a  cheerfulness  predicated  on  the  possi 
bility  of  securing  a  spiritual  mind  in  good  season  for  spiritual 
needs,  began  to  expand  into  more  personal  curiosity  ;  for 
Goliath  and  Solomon  were,  after  all,  far-away  subjects  to 
his  contemplation.  Politics,  perhaps,  had  rendered  him  suspi 
cious,  and  he  had  become  inured  to  doubting  on  principle  a 
man's  claims  for  himself.  He  cast  his  old  distrustful  side 
long  glance  at  Jepson,  freighted  with  a  wish. to  say  more 
than  he  dared,  —  to  elicit  protestations  by  insinuating  that 
his  friend  had  not  been  so  placed  in  the  other  world  as  to 
know  whether  Solomon  was  as  "  smart  "  as  he  had  been 
proclaimed  to  be,  or  to  associate  with  the  best  of  the  Biblical 
worthies. 

"  Do  ye  like  yer  new  abidin'  place  ez  well  ez  yer  old  ?  " 
Strobe  demanded. 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       415 

"  A  hundred  times  better,"  declared  Jepson.  "  I  'lowed 
at  fust  I  could  n't  bide  thar "  —  Strobe  pricked  up  his 
gossip-loving  ears  —  "  through  so  many  old  thoughts  o'  old 
times.  But  I  be  useter  'em  agin  now,  an'  they  don't  hender 
me  none." 

Again  there  was  silence.  A  star  was  shining  in  the  yel 
low  west  beside  a  flake  of  purple  cloud.  Mists  shivered 
about  the  crags.  High  amongst  them  a  screech-owl  shrilled. 

"  I  wisht  ye  'd  kem  an'  spen'  the  night  "  —  Jepson  began  ; 
he  paused  abruptly,  for  Eli  Strobe  had  sprung  to  his  feet, 
with  a  white  face,  in  which  fear  and  resolution  were  oddly 
blended ;  he  was  wrestling  with  a  frightful  old  superstition 
of  the  lures  of  a  ghost  to  lead  to  hell ;  if  he  should  follow 
the  spectre  for  a  step,  he  fancied  himself  lost  —  "  or,"  added 
Jepson,  "  bide  ter  supper." 

"  Naw,  naw  !  "  Eli  Strobe  declined  promptly.  Then  re 
membering  his  sedulous  civility,  he  continued  :  "  They  '11  be 
waitin'  fur  me  at  home,  —  an'  mam  an'  Marcelly  air  power 
ful  partic'lar.  I  '11  meet  up  with  ye  agin  somewhar,  I  reckon. 
Good-night." 

Jepson  stood  in  puzzled  doubt,  as  the  constable  took  his 
way  with  athletic  swiftness  down  the  homeward  path.  More 
than  once  Strobe  looked  backward,  to  see  the  motionless  fig 
ure  standing  bareheaded  amongst  the  crags  and  the  shifting 
mists,  and  turned  instantly  and  walked  on  more  swiftly 
than  before. 

He  was  out  of  breath,  and  pale  and  chilly,  when  he 
reached  home.  Marcella  and  Isabel  were  awaiting  him  in 
the  passage  between  the  two  rooms,  and  while  the  younger 
daughter  ran  in  to  announce  his  return  to  Mrs.  Strobe.  Mar 
cella  came  down  the  steps  to  meet  him. 

"  Whar  hev  ye  been,  dad,  so  late  ?  "  she  asked. 

u  Marcelly,"  he  said  in  a  mysterious,  low  tone,  as  they 
stood  together  on  the  porch,  beneath  the  skeleton  vines  that 
flapped  drearily  in  the  wind,  "  I  dunno  what  got  inter  me 
this  evenin'.  I  tuk  ter  misdoubtin'  ef  —  ef  Teck  Jepson 


416   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOM  SEDGE  COVE. 

ever  war  kilt  "  —  her  heart  gave  a  great  joyous  bound  —  "  ef 
he  ever  war  dead.  An'  I  started  out  ter  go  ter  that  leetle 
graveyard  o'  his  folks  whar  ye  tole  me  he  war  buried,"  — 
she  convulsively  clutched  his  arm,  —  "  ter  see  fur  myse'f 
ef  thar  war  enny  new  grave  thar." 

"  An'  —  an'  —  what  did  ye  find  ?  "  she  cried,  elated. 

He  stared  down  at  her  in  the  closing  dusk,  bewildered  by 
her  voice  and  manner.  His  tones  were  more  huskily  mys 
terious  still.  "  I  never  got  thar  —  fur  I  met  his  harnt  "  — 
She  gave  a  sharp  exclamation,  and  then  caught  one  hand  to 
her  lips,  as  if  to  restrain  the  scream  that  might  otherwise  es 
cape. 

"  Tell  on,"  she  said. 

"  Waal,  I  hed  some  words  with  the  harnt ;  an'  't  war 
comical  how  much  't  war  like  Teck,  a-settin'  up  ter  'sociate 
with  Sol'mon  an'  them,  whenst  from  some  words  he  let  drap 
I  know  he  war  in  the  t'other  place.  I  know  Teck.  He 
could  hev  been  mighty  interestin'  this  evenin',  ef  he  would. 
He  tried  ter  git  me  ter  foller  him,  but  I  war  too  smart  fur 
him,  —  tellin'  me  how  proud  Sol'mon  air  o'  the  house  he 
built." 

"  Dad,"  the  girl  gasped,  mindful  of  the  impending  inqui 
sition  of  lunacy,  "  I  ain't  axed  ye  fur  nuthin'  fur  a  good 
while.  Promise  me  one  thing." 

"Waal,  Marcelly?"  he  replied  expectantly,  but  cau 
tious. 

"  Promise  me  ye  won't  tell  nobody  'bout  yer  seein'  the 
harnt." 

His  countenance  fell.  It  was  a  sensation  to  retail,  to 
make  him  the  joyful  cynosure  of  all  the  gossips,  when  he 
should  be  once  more  able  to  join  his  cronies  at  the  forge  or 
the  store.  But  her  pleading  eyes  were  on  his  face  ;  his 
paternal  heart  stirred,  and  his  affection  could  compass  even 
such  self-denial. 

"  Waal,  Marcelly,  I  promise  —  though  "  — 

She  would  not  wait  for  argument.     "  An',  dad,  ef  enny- 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       417 

body  axes  ye  how  ye  know  Teck  Jepson  air  dead,  say  yer 
darter  Marcelly  tole  ye  whar  he  war  buried." 

"  Yes,"  he  interrupted,  with  his  burly  bass  chuckle,  "  an' 
I  '11  say  I  'lowed  they  would  n't  hev  buried  him  'thout  he 
war  dead." 

The  ^yhite  light  of  the  newly  kindled  tallow  dip  within 
the  room  streamed  out  amongst  the  dusky  brown  shadows, 
and  he  went  cheerfully  in  to  his  supper. 


XXIII. 

THE  roistering  blades  who  had  been  wont  to  congregate  at 
the  forge  had  resumed  that  cheerful  habit,  for  the  more  re 
cent  excitements  touching  the  discovery  of  the  identity  of  the 
mysterious  smith,  who  busied  himself  about  the  anvil  in  the 
dead  hour  of  the  night,  had  quite  crowded  out  all  recollec 
tion  of  the  previous  sensation  of  the  parson's  visions.  Few, 
perhaps  none  but  he  himself,  thought  of  the  apparition  that, 
accoutred  with  hoofs  and  equipped  with  wings  "  bat- wise," 
had  sat  upon  the  anvil,  while  the  ghastly  simulacrum  of  one 
of  the  jolly  group  had  held  the  shutter  ajar  to  look  in  upon 
his  unconscious  rollicking  mortal  self  ;  although  often  enougli 
the  sound  of  the  uncouth  hilarity,  the  scraping  of  the  old 
fiddle,  or  the  wild,  barbaric  choruses  rang  out  in  the  solemn 
silence  of  the  stricken  woods,  and  acquainted  the  Settle 
ment  with  the  fact  that  the  "  boys  were  caperin'  like  all 
possessed  down  thar  at  the  forge."  The  parson  sighed,  for 
all  the  ascetic  convictions  of  his  nature  were  wounded  by 
the  unthinking  jocosity  and  revelry,  the  very  laughter  of 
which  he,  in  his  portentous  gravity  of  creed,  esteemed  a  sin. 
But  even  parsons  can  learn,  and  the  good  old  man  beheld 
no  more  visions  thenceforward  to  the  day  of  his  death. 
Allegory  and  metaphor  had  departed,  with  all  their  attend 
ant  graces  of  rhetoric,  from  his  discourse,  and  thereafter 
he  urged  upon  his  congregation  the  necessity  of  truth  and 
the  insidiousriess  of  lying,  until  the  subject  seemed  to  grow 
personal,  and  each  member  ransacked  the  possibilities  for 
the  means  whereby  the  pastor  could  have  become  acquainted 
with  sundry  individual  feats  of  athletically  drawing  the  long 
bow. 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.      419 

The  fluctuating  shafts  of  red  light,  now  flung  across  the 
landscape  without,  now  suddenly  withdrawn,  as  the  breath 
of  the  bellows  rose  and  fell,  imparted  a  genial  element  to 
the  gaunt  and  sere  autumnal  scene  this  afternoon,  as  Bassett 
approached  the  little  low  building  under  the  beetling  crags. 
The  dusk  had  already  fallen,  the  metallic  lustre  had  tar 
nished  in  the  sky,  and  only  here  and  there  a  dimly  burnished 
gleam  gave  evidences  of  how  the  sunset  but  now  had  flared. 
The  depressing  influences  of  the  rain  which  its  brilliancy 
had  served  to  obliterate  were  reasserted  in  the  closing  night. 
Drops  were  ever  and  anon  fitfully  falling  in  the  woods  from 
their  lodgment  in  the  sere  curled  leaves,  still  clinging  to  the 
trees,  as  the  wind  stirred  them.  The  mountains,  dark  and 
sinister,  closed  about  the  Cove,  its  spaces  all  narrowing  in 
the  hovering  obscurity,  only  indicated,  indeed,  by  the  pallid 
stretches  of  crab-grass  in  the  place  of  the  harvested  crops, 
and  the  tawny  growth  of  the  broomsedge,  the  curse  of  the 
abandoned  land ;  for  the  last  glimmers  of  the  day  revealed 
these  lighter  tones  in  the  dull  neutrality  of  the  blending 
darkness.  The  dank  breath  of  their  sodden  fibres  came  to 
him  as  he  walked  ;  the  river  called  aloud  in  a  tumult  of  ela 
tion,  as  it  dashed  bold  and  wild  over  the  rocks,  reinforced 
by  its  tributaries  from  the  ranges ;  exhalations  were  rising 
from  the  ground,  loitering  in  low  places,  and  as  the  light 
flared  out  all  red  from  the  forge  now  and  again,  it  cleft 
them  in  twain.  The  echoes  waked  still,  despite  the  somno 
lent,  night-shrouded  aspect  of  mountain  and  valley,  and 
were  full  of  mirth,  with  snatches  of  lilting  song,  to  repeat 
and  con  anew,  till  languorously,  and  syllable  by  syllable, 
they  dropped  to  silence,  or  were  overpowered  by  fresh  out 
bursts  of  boisterous  fun.  It  might  have  seemed,  even  to 
these  accurate  mim'cs,  all  as  it  was  in  the  old  days  before 
Rathburn  had  ever  come  to  the  Great  Smoky  to  search  in 
chasm  and  gorge  and  cave  for  silver,  —  before  they  had 
been  roused  in  the  mystic  midnight  hour  to  keep  a  tally 
with  the  strokes  of  his  hammer  on  the  anvil,  and  repeat 


420        THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOM  SEDGE   COVE. 

with  bated  breath  his  low-toned  words,  —  all  as  it  was.  It 
did  not  seem  thus  to  Bassett,  coming  nearer  still.  A  pre 
occupation,  a  lack  of  zest  in  the  jocularity,  in  the  rallying 
sallies,  he  could  detect  in  the  very  voices  of  the  familiar 
group  too  distant  to  be  articulate  ;  and  yet  they  were  as 
bluffly  loud  as  ever.  Nevertheless,  as  he  came  in  view  of 
the  interior,  the  figures  of  the  young  mountaineers,  now  dis 
tinct  in  the  glow  of  the  forge  fire,  now  dull  and  almost  in 
distinguishable  in  the  shadow  of  the  dusky  brown  walls,  in 
timated  but  small  thought  save  of  the  mirth  of  the  moment. 
The  violin's  tones  were  facetious  under  the  bowing  of  so 
jovial  a  hand  as  Jube,  the  parson's  son,  made  shift  to  wield. 
The  severe  ascetic  lines  of  his  father's  profile  were  queerly 
imposed  upon  the  rich  red  tint  of  the  instrument,  convulsed 
by  a  grin  of  a  magnitude  justified  only  by  the  phenomenal 
capers  of  the  dancer,  and  distorted  presently  in  sympathy 
with  some  very  intricate  harmonics,  the  production  of  which 
were  somewhat  beyond  the  performer's  capacity.  The 
dancer  was  Andy  Longwood,  and  his  latent  agility  was  man 
ifested  to  an  extent  which  one  would  hardly  have  suspected 
from  his  habitual  slow,  slouching  gait.  He  held  either  hand 
upon  his  hips  ;  his  chin  was  uplifted ;  he  looked  not  at  his 
feet,  surprising  as  were  their  deft  gyrations  to  the  circle  of 
men  who,  with  their  pipes  in  their  mouths,  stood  about  and 
gazed  at  him  with  an  expression  of  slow  and  lenient  amuse 
ment,  but  at  the  dark  and  cobwebbed  rafters  of  the  high- 
peaked  roof.  The  white  light  flared  out  from  the  fire  for 
one  moment  upon  his  face,  with  his  long  fair  hair  shaken 
back  and  tossing  with  his  movements ;  and  as  the  dull  red 
glow  succeeded  it,  the  surrounding  spectators  fell  back 
laughing,  their  applause  of  an  intricate  double  shuffle,  with 
which  he  had  concluded,  audible  to  Bassett  as  he  approached. 
When  he  reached  the  door  and  stood  leaning  against  it 
their  comments  had  not  yet  shifted  from  the  subject. 

"  Andy,  ye  air  spry  fur  true !  —  how  did  ye  1'arn  ter 
take  them  s'prisin'  steps  ?  "  observed  Moses  Hull,  at  whom 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       421 

Bassett  glanced  in  surprise,  for  it  was  Hull's  ambition  to 
do  many  things  in  the  nature  of  feats  of  agility  preemi 
nently  well,  and  commendation  from  him,  therefore,  usu 
ally  was  slack  and  scanty.  "  Shucks  !  "  He  made  one  or 
two  teetering  movements  forward  on  the  tips  of  his  toes, 
then  desisted  with  a  debonair  wave  of  his  hand.  "  /  can't, 
—  gin  it  up." 

"  Gin  Andy  sti'thin'  ter  drink  ;  'bleeged  ter  be  dry  arter 
all  that  hoppin'  an'  commotion,"  said  Dake,  in  a  tone  the 
essence  of  suavity.  "  Hey,  Clem  ?  "  He  appealed  to  the 
hospitalities  of  the  blacksmith,  who  sat  upon  the  anvil,  all 
unmindful  of  the  devil,  and  smoked  his  pipe,  as  he  over 
looked  a  game  of  cards  which  two  young  fellows  were  play 
ing  upon  the  head  of  a  barrel. 

"  Let  him  gin  hisse'f  suthin'  ter  drink,"  said  Clem,  cava 
lierly,  emitting  a  blue  wreath  of  smoke  from  his  lips.  He 
had  not  forgiven  the  youthful  rival  his  unintentionally  mis 
leading  statement  as  to  Marcella's  preference.  "  I  reckon 
Andy  hev  got  sense  enough  ter  know  the  outside  o'  a  jug 
whenst  he  see  it ;  ef  not,  let  him  go  dry." 

He  inserted  his  pipe  once  more  between  his  lips,  and  bent 
his  attention  upon  the  game,  solemnly  and  warily  played  by 
the  light  of  the  forge  fire,  the  bellows  accommodatingly 
worked  by  a  youth  who  fancied  he  had  a  bent  toward  the 
smith's  vocation,  and  was  happy  to  be  allowed  to  meddle  in 
any  capacity  with  the  paraphernalia  of  the  forge. 

"  I  won't  die  o'  thirst,  I  reckon,  yit  awhile,"  panted  Andy, 
who,  still  out  of  breath,  was  walking  himself  at)out  after 
the  manner  in  which  a  horse  is  exercised  after  running.  He 
took  his  way  behind  the  elevated  hearth  of  the  forge,  for  in 
the  dusky  retirement  of  this  nook  stood  a  modestly  disposed 
brown  jug,  with  a  corn-cob  stopper.  Its  presence  here  was 
well-known,  and  the  affectation  of  secrecy  sprang,  doubtless, 
from  some  mere  sentiment  of  appropriateness,  for  the  liquor 
was  illegally  distilled,  and  came  few  suspected  whence. 

Bassett  watched  the  dumb  show,  very  dim  in  the  corner, 


422   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

of  the  shadow  of  a  man  drinking  from  the  shadow  of  a  jug  ; 
he  was  of  an  outspoken  temperament,  of  which,  however, 
censoriousness  was  more  an  element  than  candor. 

"  What  ails  ye,  Gid,  ter  be  a-coddlin'  Andy  so  special  ?  " 
He  did  not  desist  because  of  a  significant  glance  from  Dake, 
standing  in  the  rear  of  the  anvil.  "  An'  what 's  Andy 
a-doin'  of  over  hyar,  so  fur  from  home,  ennyhows?  His 
folks  will  'low  he  be  los',  —  his  mam  will  be  out'n  her  head," 
he  sneered. 

The  bibulous  shadow  paused,  with  the  jug  at  its  lips. 
The  pantomime  was  very  expressive  of  scornful  retort,  as 
Longwood  wagged  his  head  silently,  but  with  the  fiery  fluid 
in  his  throat  he  could  not  speak  for  a  moment.  "  I  '11  knock 
ye  inter  Kingdon  Come,  Joe  Bassett,  ef  ye  fool  along  o'  me. 
Talkin'  ez  ef  I  war  about  five  year  old !  /  ain't  axin' 
you-uns  'bout  sech  ez  I  do,  nohow."  And  once  more  he  ap 
plied  his  lips  to  the  jug. 

u  Old  or  young,  Andy  hev  been  mighty  important  ter 
Brumsaidge,"  said  Hull  seductively.  "  Some  things  we-uns 
would  never  hev  knowed  ef  't  war  n't  fur  him." 

Bassett  stared  in  surprise  ;  then  gave  a  short,  scornful 
laugh.  "  Waal,  I  feel  powerful  sorry  fur  Brumsaidge  ef 
Andy  kin  tell  'em  ennything !  "  he  flouted. 

The  young  fellow  had  come  from  behind  the  elevated 
hearth  of  the  forge,  wiping  his  lips  on  the  back  of  his  hand. 
He  had  suddenly  grown  conscious,  and  looked  a  trifle  crest 
fallen.  "  Waal,  I  dunno  ez  I  oughter  hev  tole  what  I  done, 
—  I  hev  t>eeii  sorry  fur  it  sence.  It  jes'  sorter  slipped  out'n 
my  mouth  'fore  I  knowed  it.  I  hed  drunk  cornsider'ble 
apple-jack,"  —  he  made  this  admission  with  a  callow  pride 
in  being  thus  overtaken,  —  "  an'  I  sca'cely  knowed  what  I 
said.  I  war  sorry  arterward." 

"  'Bout  what  ?  "  demanded  Bassett,  choosing  to  disregard 
the  telegraphic  glances  of  Hull  and  Dake. 

"Shucks!"  said  Hull,  answering  for  Longwood,  "jes' 
'bout  tellin'  ez  Eli  Strobe  hed  gone  deranged." 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.      423 

Bassett  said  nothing,  and  Longwood,  standing  with  his 
hands  in  his  pockets,  his  head  bare,  —  for  he  had  not  re 
placed  his  hat  after  dancing,  and  it  now  lay  among  the 
spokes  of  a  broken  wagon-wheel  at  one  side  of  the  shop,  — 
gazed  absently  down  at  the  game  of  cards. 

"  I  dunno  why  ye  air  sorry  ye  tole,"  said  Hull  craft 
ily  ;  and  it  occurred  suddenly  to  Bassett  that  he  was  a 
half-brother  of  the  defeated  candidate  for  constable,  and 
that  Longwood  was  in  the  process  of  being  cleverly  manip 
ulated.  "  Brumsaidge  would  hev  been  obleeged  ter  find 
it  out,  sooner  or  later.  I  s'pose,"  he  added,  after  a  pause, 
"  ye  war  'feared  they  would  try  ter  take  his  office  'way 
from  him  ?  " 

"  Edzac'ly  !  "  said  Longwood,  lifting  his  large  eyes,  "  an' 
I  did  n't  want  ter  hev  no  part  nor  passel  in  sech." 

"  Waal,  ye  won't !  "  exclaimed  Hull  reassuringly.  He 
was  a  dark-browed  fellow,  of  a  wooden-like  countenance  ;  it 
seemed  specially  devoid  of  expression  as  he  chewed  hard 
upon  his  quid  of  tobacco,  and  he  had  a  casual  manner  as  he 
continued  :  "  Folks  would  hev  been  bound  ter  hear  it  n'ised 
abroad  'fore  long,  an'  then,  ef  he  air  crazy,  Brumsaidge  can't 
keep  him  constable.  This  air  a  mighty  big  deestric',  an' 
arter  ye  wunst  gits  out'n  the  Settlemint  houses  air  few  fur 
true,  an'  fur  apart,  an'  woods  air  thick.  A  crazy  constable 
ain't  no  constable  at  all." 

"  Yes,  sir !  "  Dake  broke  in  ;  "  an'  folks  out  thar  hev  got 
ter  hev  some  sort'n  purtection  besides  a  gyard-dog,  —  got  ter 
sorter  depend  on  the  law,  now'days.  We-uns  ain't  got  grit 
enough  ter  take  keer  o'  ourselves,  like  we  useter  do." 

But  this  last  sentiment  boded  a  digression.  Hull  hastily 
interposed,  still  incidentally,  however  :  "  "T  ain't  yer  fault, 
Andy,  ef  he  war  ter  lose  his  office,  —  ye  did  n't  make  him 
go  deranged  ;  an'  it  stands  ter  reason  ez  the  law  can't  be 
administered  by  a  off' cer  teched  in  the  head.  Naw,  sir  ! 
But  then  he  mought  not  be  crazy.  What  did  he  say,  Andy, 
ter  make  ye  'low  he  had  gone  deranged  ?  " 


424   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

The  question  was  asked,  and  Hull  gazed  intently  at  the 
young  fellow,  fearing  that  at  this  significant  moment  some 
word,  some  movement,  of  the  others  might  rob  him  of  what 
he  so  zealously  sought,  —  a  clew  for  the  guidance  of  those 
who  were  scheming  in  the  matter  of  the  inquisition  of  lu 
nacy  ;  for  so  close  had  been  the  race  for  constable  that  in 
the  event  of  the  office  becoming  vacant,  and  a  consequent 
special  election,  Joshua  Nevins  could  hardly  fail  to  have 
a  walk-over,  as  against  any  other  candidate  than  the  dis 
abled  incumbent.  Nevertheless,  although  Hull's  face  had 
grown  conscious,  his  manner  carefully  dissembled  his  in 
terest,  and  Longwood's  glance  discovered  naught  to  inflame 
his  anger  or  rouse  his  caution.  It  was  only  because  of  the 
twinge  of  his  own  conscience  that  he  declared  irritably,  lift 
ing  his  voice,  "  I  dunno  what  he  said,  —  leastwise  I  hev  no 
call  ter  tell,  an'  I  ain't  a-goin'  ter."  A  sudden  doubt,  even 
suspicion,  stirred  within  him.  "  Somebody  else  war  axin' 
me  that  question  jes'  ter-day." 

Hull,  fresh  at  politics,  lost  his  self-possession.  "  'T  war  n't 
me !  "  he  protested,  as  if  repudiating  an  accusation. 

"  Did  I  say  't  war  ?  "  demanded  Longwood,  with  a  snarl 
ing  accent.  The  whiskey  which  he  had  drunk  and  that 
goading  sense  of  wrong-doing  had  blended  in  angry  discom 
fort,  which  he  was  more  disposed  to  wreak  on  others,  if  he 
might  with  impunity,  than  to  suffer  in  silence. 

"  Don't  quar'l,  boys,"  eagerly  objected  Jube.  His  habit 
was  not  that  of  a  peacemaker,  but  the  prospect  of  a  wrangle 
threatened  to  despoil  the  pleasure  he  experienced  in  twang 
ing  the  old  violin,  for  the  loud  voices  overbore  the  vibrations 
of  the  strings  as  he  experimented  with  some  delicate  fleck 
ing  touches  of  the  bow.  "  Don't  quar'l,  boys." 

"  I  ain't  quar'lin' !  "  Longwood  defended  himself  with  still 
a  louder  tone.  "  Axin*  me  —  an'  I  won't  stan'  it  —  ez  ter 
what  Eli  Strobe  said  an'  did  n't  say,  ter  make  me  'low  he 
bed  gone  deranged  !  " 

His  voice,  rasping  and  querulous,  caused  Clem  Sanders 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       425 

to  look  up  with  scowling  disfavor  from  the  game  of  which 
he  had  been  an  absorbed  spectator.  His  frown  grew  blacker 
as  the  final  words  fell  upon  the  air.  "  Gone  deranged  !  " 
he  sneered.  "  Air  you-uns  a-spreadin'  that  gossip  yit,  kase 
the  man  hed  a  fever,  an'  war  a  leetle  out'n  his  head  ?  I  do 
declar',  ye  make  me  laff."  His  face  seemed  far  from  laugh 
ing,  so  indignant  and  flushed  it  was. 

"A  man  can't  stay  out'n  his  head  jes'  with  fever  from 
August  —  election  day  air  fust  Thursday  in  August  —  plumb 
till  the  middle  o'  October,  an'  past.  That 's  when  Andy 
hearn  Eli  Strobe  a-maunderin',"  Hull  excitedly  argued. 

fc<  I  never  said  he  maundered,"  Longwood  protested  vehe 
mently.  "  I  ain't  a-goin'  ter  tell  what  he  said." 

Clem  Sanders  had  worn  a  startled,  troubled  face  as  he 
hearkened  to  Hull's  exposition  of  these  dates.  He  seemed 
overpowered,  convinced  against  his  will.  Then  his  anxious 
hope  for  Marcella's  sake  making  him  ingeniously  sanguine, 
he  turned  fiercely  toward  Longwood. 

"  An'  what  sort'n  jedge  be  you-uns  ?  Gone  deranged  ! 
Nobody  hev  gone  haffen  ez  fur  deranged  ez  you-uns.  Ye 
ain't  got  two  atoms  o'  brains  ter  keep  one  another  comp'ny 
in  that  thar  great  big  lonesome  head  o'  yourn." 

Longwood  winced  palpably  before  this  vigorous  scorn. 
The  consideration  with  which  he  had  been  treated  earlier  in 
the  evening  had  served  to  foster  his  self-esteem.  The  black 
smith  was  a  man  of  mark  in  the  community  and  enjoyed 
great  popularity,  and  Longwood  deprecated  a  "  backing 
down  "  from  this  source.  He  was  prone  to  strut  and  swag 
ger,  and  Hull's  pretended  deference  had  made  him  adopt  a 
still  more  assuming  pose. 

He  forgot  his  pangs  of  conscience,  Marcella,  the  conse 
quence  to  Eli  Strobe,  —  ah1,  —  in  the  tumult  of  his  self-im- 
portance  and  the  desire  to  assert  himself. 

44  Jedge  o'  goin'  deranged  !  Even  you-uns,  I  reckon,  would 
hev  hed  gumption  enough  ter  sense  what  war  the  matter  ef 
ye  hed  hearn  him  declarin'  —  like  I  done  —  ez  he  hed 


426   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

killed  Teck  Jepson,  bruk  his  neck,  an'  kep'  axin'  whar  Teck 
war  buried,  an'  who  preached  the  fun'al  sermon,  an'  ef  his 
harnt  hed  not  out  ter  walk  !  I  reckon  ye  'd  hev  lowed  he 
war  deranged,  ef  ye  hed  hearn  all  that !  " 

He  hurled  forth  these  words  upon  Clem  Sanders,  who  sat 
as  one  petrified,  a  stony  dismay  on  his  face,  and  seeming 
scarcely  to  breathe.  Hull  was  excited,  laughing  a  little, 
half  in  triumph,  half  in  ridicule  of  the  grotesque  folly  of 
thus  revealing  the  secret  that  had  been  so  carefully  with 
held  from  the  inquiries  hardly  yet  silent  upon  the  air.  The 
inconsequent  Longwood,  in  the  flush  of  his  victory  over 
the  blacksmith,  did  not  even  dimly  appreciate  what  he  had 
done,  till,  turning,  he  saw  Hull's  face,  wooden  no  longer, 
and  the  satirically  laughing  Dake.  He  wilted  a  trifle ;  then 
with  an  effort  to  regain  his  manly  port,  he  demanded  in  an 
offended  tone,  "  What  be  ye  fellers  a-laffin'  at  ?  " 

Hull  showed  some  aptitude  for  the  affairs  in  which  he 
intermeddled  merely  for  reasons  of  consanguinity.  "  So 
funny,"  he  replied  evasively,  —  "  so  darned  funny,  the  idee 
o'  Teck  Jepson  bein'  dead  !  I  wish  he  war  !  " 

"  That  would  n't  do  we-uns  no  good,"  said  Dake.  "  We- 
uns  can't  find  whar  Jake  Baintree  an'  his  pardner  air  hidin' 
in  the  mountings  enny  better  ef  Teck  war  dead  than  livin'." 

Jube  Donnard  ceased  to  scrape  the  old  violin  ;  the  other 
men  gathered  close  about ;  the  game  of  cards  paused  mid 
way  ;  the  very  name  of  Baintree  and  his  confederate  seemed 
to  supersede  all  other  interests.  Only  Andy  Longwood  held 
apart,  realizing  with  a  sinking  heart  that  he  had  given  the 
clew  —  the  subject  of  insanity  —  upon  which  the  investiga 
tions  would  be  pushed  ;  otherwise,  so  sane  was  Strobe  on 
every  other  point,  he  might  have  escaped,  even  though  the 
inquiry  were  prompted  and  prosecuted  by  his  political  en 
emies. 

He  sat  down  upon  the  shoeing-stool,  leaning  his  head 
against  the  chimney,  and  tried  to  reflect  on  what  he  had 
done  and  what  it  might  precipitate.  Perhaps  it  was  the 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       427 

heat  of  the  fire,  perhaps  the  effects  of  the  whiskey  he  had 
drunk :  his  head  drooped  more  and  more,  and  presently  he 
was  asleep,  all  oblivious  of  the  absorbed  group  and  the  topic 
that  so  engrossed  them. 

Even  the  enthusiast  at  the  bellows  had  deserted  the  scene 
of  his  ambition,  and  joined  the  others.  The  tone  of  the 
conversation  intimated  that  the  subject  was  a  recurrent  one, 
and  each  speaker  had  the  air  of  producing  his  remark  rather 
from  a  long  train  of  previous  reflection  than  upon  the  im 
pulse  of  the  moment. 

"  I  dunno  what  ter  think  o'  Teck  Jepson,"  pursued  Dake. 
"  Some  o'  the  boys  lowed  ez  Baintree  an'  his  pardner  ez 
purtends  ter  be  a-sarchin'  fur  silver  hed  been  warned,  else 
Rathburn  never  would  hev  kem  down  ter  the  forge  so  early 
in  the  night  with  sech  a  plain,  harmless  tale." 

"  Who  would  go  a  hidin'  sech  ez  tryin'  ter  git  holt  of  a 
silver  mine,  ennyhow  ?  "  demanded  Jube  logically.  "  1 11  gin 
my  cornsent  ter  his  findin'  all  the  silver  mines  in  the  ken- 
try.  So  would  other  folks,  an'  he  be  'bleeged  ter  know  it." 

"  Teck  never  denied  they  war  warned,  whenst  faced  with 
the  fac',''  said  one  of  the  card-players,  the  superseded  pack 
in  his  hand. 

"  An'  Teck  lowed,"  said  the  other,  "  ez  he  knowed  who 
warned  'em.  He  hed  ter  low  that  whenst  I  taxed  him  with 
it.  He  said  he  would  n't  lie." 

"  But  he  would  n't  tell  who  done  it,"  interpolated  Jube, 
the  violin  lying  idle  and  silent  on  his  knee. 

"  Naw,  sir  !  "  exclaimed  Dake.  u  I  jes'  argufied  with  him 
fur  a  good  hour  an'  better,  tryin'  ter  pint  out  his  jewty  ter 
the  benighted  critter,  fairly  sodden  in  the  pride  o'  his  reli 
gion.  I  tole  him  't  war  his  jewty  ter  his  kentry.  An'  he 
jes'  lowed  ez  he  hed  seen  the  face  o'  jewty  too  often  not 
ter  know  it,  an'  that  all  the  legions  o'  hell  an'  all  the  hosts 
o'  heaven  could  not  make  him  reveal  that  name  ter  mortal 
ears." 

The  blacksmith,  his  ponderous  arms  folded,  his  head  bent 


428        THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE. 

as  he  sat  on  the  anvil  and  listened,  rose  suddenly,  with  a 
deep  sigh,  and  walked  once  or  twice  the  length  of  the  little 
shop.  He  had  refrained  from  speaking,  fearing  his  lawless 
tongue  might  betray  his  intimate  knowledge  of  the  mystery 
that  so  baffled  them.  His  silence  had  not  been  noted,  but 
his  movement  brought  him  to  the  minds  of  the  others,  and 
one  of  the  card-players  demanded  :  — 

"  Did  you-uns  onderstan',  Clem,  this  hyar  Rathburn  ter 
say  ez  him  an'  Jake  war  a-campin'  on  the  range  ter  the  west 
o'  Brumsaidge  ?  Whenst  we-uns  went  up  on  the  mounting, 
the  t'other  day*,  I  do  declar'  I  b'lieve  we  sarched  every  squar' 
mile  fur  ten  mile,  a-bushwhackin  fur  'em." 

"  That  air  what  I  onderstood  him  ter  say,"  replied  the 
blacksmith  cautiously,  coming  to  a  halt  in  the  middle  of  the 
floor.  "  On  the  mounting  ter  the  west.  But  I  never  paid 
no  partic'lar  'tention  ter  him.  I  war  a-mendin'  of  his  tool, 
an'  Jepson  done  the  talkin'.  I  'lowed  ye  'd  be  sati'fied  with 
whatever  Jepson  done." 

"  But  he  never  done  nuthin' !  "  cried  Dake  angrily. 
"  Swaller  a  big  tale  'bout'n  sarchin'  fur  silver  ez  easy  ez 
skim  milk,  an'  then  let  the  evil-doer  slip  through  his  fingers 
like  pickin'  up  water  !  " 

"  'Thout  even  findin'  out  whar  ter  git  him  agin  ef  we-uns 
wanted  him  !  "  exclaimed  Jube  Donnard. 

There  was  a  silence.  Each  was  conscious  of  a  thought 
that  he  shared  with  the  others,  but  as  yet  none  had  put  it 
into  words.  The  dim  red  glow  of  the  coals  slowly  smoul 
dering  under  the  sooty  hood  suffused  the  dusky  place,  and 
but  dimly  revealed  the  great  slouching  figures  of  the  moun 
taineers,  as  they  lounged  about  on  the  few  seats  that  the 
shop  afforded,  or  stood  with  their  hands  in  their  pockets 
and  deliberated.  Outside  of  the  widely  opened  doors  the 
night  gloomed.  All  was  indistinguishable  in  the  deep 
obscurity  save  the  line  of  the  western  horizon,  a  dull  copper 
hue,  and  against  it  were  visible  the  gnarled  limbs  of  the 
old  tree  just  without  the  forge,  each  bough  and  twig  black 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       429 

and  distinct  as  it  moved  slightly  in  the  wind.  Now  and 
again  drops  fell  in  quick,  convulsive  patterings  from  the 
growth  of  evergreen  laurel  on  the  slope  of  the  hill,  and  some 
times  the  eaves  added  a  few  monotonous  drippings  to  the  rivu 
lets  in  the  gullies  below,  running  fast  and  loud  in  the  silence. 

"  Thar  hev  been  a  traitor  'mongst  we-uns,"  said  Dake 
presently. 

"  Ye  say  that  ez  ef  it  war  news,"  sneered  Bassett,  still 
standing  in  the  door. 

"  I  reckon  all  o'  the  boys  hev  sorter  sensed  who  't  war," 
observed  Dake. 

"  Ye  'member  how  keen  Teck  Jepson  war  fur  appealin' 
ter  Jedge  Lynch,  ez  he  called  it,  whenst  Baintree  war  fust 
let  off  from  the  court  fur  a-killin'  o'  Sam'l  Keale,  an'  whenst 
enny  fool  mought  hev  knowed  the  kentry  would  do  nuthin' 
agin  the  jury's  say-so  ?"  Bassett  remarked  discursively. 

The  others  stared  at  him  through  the  red  dusk  of  the 
shadowy  place,  surprised  by  this  reminiscent  turn  to  the 
conversation. 

<;  Of  course,"  assented  Jube,  by  way  of  giving  him  an  im 
petus. 

"  That  war  a  blind.  He  never  wanted  nuthin  done  ter 
Baintree,  —  oh,  ye  need  n't  tell  me  !  "  For  there  was  an  in 
credulous  laugh  here  and  there  in  his  audience. 

"  Shucks,  Joe  !  "  exclaimed  Jube,  turning  aside  as  if  he 
would  once  more  lift  the  violin,  then  pausing  and  look 
ing  over  his  shoulder  as  Bassett  resumed. 

"  An'  t'other  night,  up  at  Clem's  barn,  he  war  dead  agin 
hangia'  or  enny  thin'  'thout  them  men  war  diskivered  in  mo' 
wrong-doin'  sence  killin'  Sam'l  Keale,  —  ez  ef  they  'd  up  an' 
tell  'bout  thar  wrong-doin's  with  all  o'  we-uns  in  a  hunderd 
yards  of  'em,  an'  they  hevin'  been  warned,  an'  Teck  Jepson 
knoxvin'  who  warned  'em  !  " 

"/'d  like  ter  know  who  warned  'em.  That  busybody 
would  be  done  with  warnin's,"  declared  one  of  the  card- 
players.  "  I  'd  strangle  that  tattle-tale  with  a  mighty  good 
will,  ef  I  hed  the  chance  !  " 


430   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

"  Hesh  up !  I  '11  lay  ye  low  with  that  thar  sledge  o' 
mine  !  "  cried  Clem  peremptorily,  the  image  of  Marcella  in 
his  mind. 

"  Laws-a-massy,  Clem,"  protested  the  card-player  pacific 
ally,  surprised  at  his  vehemence. 

"  Then,"  pursued  Bassett,  all  unheeding,  a  logical  end  in 
contemplation,  "  we-uns  hev  let  Teck  Jepson  git  the  upper 
hand  o'  us,  so  ez  he  felt  full  bold  ter  let  that  Rathburn  go, 
an'  stayed  argufyin'  with  we-uns  in  the  barn  jes'  ter  pur- 
vent  us  from  goin'  arter  him  an'  capturin'  him,  so  ez  him 
an'  Baintree  would  git  off  scot-free." 

"  We-uns  knowed  all  that  afore,"  said  Hull  placidly. 

"  Waal,"  drawled  Bassett  slowly,  but  his  eyes  gleamed 
with  excitement  and  his  pulse  quickened,  "  mebbe  ye  don't 
know  ez  I  viewed  Jepson  a-standin'  in  his  door  this  very 
evenin',  a-shakin'  hands  with  this  very  Baintree  ez  he  al 
ways  purtended  ter  despise  so,  an'  ez  we-uns  can't  find  high 
or  low,  —  shakin'  hands,  sir,  shakin'  hands  frien'ly  an'  per- 
lite,  ez  ef  Baintree  war  the  pa'son !." 

There  were  two  or  three  sharp,  inarticulate  exclamations, 
and  dead  silence  ensued. 

u  We-uns  hev  been  powerful  deceived  in  this  man  ez  hev 
fairly  ruled  Brumsaidge  Cove !  "  said  one  of  the  mountain 
eers  at  last,  smarting  with  the  sense  of  being  overreached. 

"  His  rule  air  over  !  "  cried  Bassett,  "  else  he  hev  stamped 
out  every  mite  o'  pluck  'mongst  us  in  his  rule,  ez  ye  call  it." 

"  Why,  now,  look-a-hyar,  Joe,  how  air  ye  a-countin'  fur 
his  bein'  frien'ly  with  Baintree  ?  He  ain't  a  fool  like  this 
hyar  Rathburn,  hankerin'  arter  silver  ez  Jake  kin  find," 
urged  Dake,  dazed  by  the  revelation,  and  seeking  some  ade 
quate  motive  that  might  explain  it. 

Bassett  had  come  forward  into  their  midst.  He  stood 
with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  his  face  grave  but  with  sup 
pressed  excitement  in  every  line  of  it,  and  now  and  then 
glancing  over  his  shoulder  at  the  broad  open  door,  where 
a  mist  lurked  shifting  and  shimmering,  vaguely  perceived 
in  the  dull  red  glow  of  the  forge  fire. 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       431 

"  Why,  what  kin  it  mean,  boys,"  he  said,  "  'ceptin'  we-uns 
hev  been  fooled  from  the  beginnin' ?  Teck  wouldn't  act" 
so  ef  Baintree  did  n't  hev  a  hank  over  him  somehows,  — 
could  put  him  inter  a  mighty  heap  o'  trouble  ef  he  did  other 
wise.  Ez  long  ez  Baintree  hev  been  kep'  under  our  watch 
Teck  hev  b'friended  him  ;  afore  that  he  'peared  ez  much 
agin  him  ez  ennybody,  jes'  ez  a  blind  ter  keep  folks  from 
s'picionin'  them." 

But  what  kin  Teck  hev  done  ez  Baintree  be  in  an'  knows 
about  ?  Thar  ain't  no  crime  been  c'mitted  in  these  parts," 
ruminated  Dake,  his  mind  rummaging  the  possibilities, 
"  'ceptin'  —  'ceptin'  "  —  he  drawled  on  uncertainly  ;  then 
he  suddenly  glanced  up,  his  eyes  alight  —  "  'ceptin'  the  mys 
terious  takin'-off  o'  Sam'l  Keale,  five  year  ago  an'  better." 

He  had  guessed  Bassett's  suspicion  ;  he  saw  this  in  his 
crony's  eyes,  and  the  strength  of  his  own  suggestion  was  in 
creased  by  its  duplication.  The  others  stirred  uneasily,  but 
the  crime  was  a  mystery  never  solved,  and  what  could  be 
more  inexplicable  than  the  fact  that  Jepson  was  seen  shak 
ing  hands  with  the  man  whom  he  had  denounced  and  threat 
ened  again  and  again,  a  contemptible  wretch,  and  the  outcast 
of  the  mountains  ? 

"  Ye  low,"  said  Dake,  "  ez  Jepson  hed  some  hand  in  that 
business  what  ain't  never  been  brought  ter  light  ?  " 

"Elsewise  what  ails  him  ter  purtect  Baintree  an'  his 
comical  doctor-man,  an'  ter  swear  he  won't  tell  who  warned 
'em,  an'  ter  be  seen,  when  he  thunk  he  war  safe  from  view, 
a-shakin'  hands  mighty  frien'ly  with  the  man  he  hev  pur- 
tended  ter  run  down  ?  " 

Bassett  suddenly  leaned  forward,  caught  Dake's  hand, 
and  went  through  the  dumb  show  of  a  friendly  parting, 
while  the  others  looked  on  through  the  red  glow  of  the  fire. 
Then  he  flung  himself  back  against  the  wall,  laughing  aloud, 
—  a  fleering  falsetto  laugh,  that  jarred  the  solemn  silence 
beneath  the  bare  trees,  and  echoed  far  along  the  road 
through  the  Settlement. 


XXIV. 

IT  is  one  of  the  incongruities  of  sentiment  that  the  grief 
of  an  unworthy  subject  for  a  puny  cause  should  have  the 
poignant  force  and  dignity  of  pain,  and  demonstrate  that 
universality  of  human  susceptibility  to  mental  suffering  with 
which  the  species  is  endowed.  Mrs.  Bowles  might  have 
seemed  of  altogether  too  flimsy  a  moral  constitution  to  ex 
perience  so  adequately  the  surprise,  the  anger,  the  anguish, 
that  consecutively  possessed  her  upon  the  discovery  of  the 
little  mountaineer's  disappearance.  Bob's  own  mother 
could  hardly  have  shed  more  tears.  As  she  forecast  the 
gossip  of  the  Cove,  it  might  have  appeared  that  only  the  re 
pute  heretofore  of  phenomenal  graces  of  disposition  could: 
warrant  the  quivering  shrinking  she  felt  in  coming  at  a  dis 
advantage  before  the  popular  censor. 

"  Folks  will  'low  ez  how  I  hed  treated  him  mean,  — 
though  ef  he  war  my  own  child  an'  hed  runned  away,  they  'd 
'low  he  war  a  mean  brat,  an'  would  turn  out  a  evil  man. 
But  bein'  I  'm  a  stepmother,  I  '11  git  the  blame.  An'  ter 
think  how  I  hev  slaved  fur  him,  —  patched  an'  let  out  seams, 
an'  him  a-growin'  out'n  every  gyarmint  ez  ef  he  'd  grow 
out'n  the  roof  ;  an'  kep'  him  clean  ez  soap  an'  water  knowed 
how !  I  '11  be  bound  he  's  tore  his  petticoats  haffen  off'n 
him  in  tatters,  an'  got  muddy  an'  scratched  with  briers, 
afore  he  shows  hisse'f  —  a  mis'able  mean  shoat !  —  in  the 
Cove,  a  object  o'  pity,  an'  everybody  a-tattlin'  how  M'ria 
White,  ez  married  a  Bowles,  like  a  fool,  treats  her  step-chil'n, 
till  they  runs  away  from  her,  an'  dares  the  wild  beast  an' 
the  mountings  ter  be  shet  of  her." 

And  once  more  she  burst  into  tears.     She  had  her  good 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       433 

qualities,  which  were  chiefly  housewifely,  and  she  had  not 
pretermitted  her  labors  in  washing  the  dishes  and  scouring 
the  cooking  utensils  in  order  to  indulge  her  grief.  Perhaps 
it  was  the  more  effective  as  she  held  the  plate  aside  to  lean 
sobbing  against  the  chimney  jamb  ;  then  she  wiped  her  eyes 
perfunctorily  upon  her  apron,  and  went  on  with  her  work, 
while  the  tears  streamed  anew. 

Her  husband  stood  helplessly  looking  on,  a  pale,  ashen 
hue  upon  his  lank,  indefinite  countenance,  a  startled  anxiety 
in  his  mild  blue  eyes,  that  seemed  distended  with  abnormal 
faculties,  as  if  they  beheld  a  frightful  possibility  not  within 
the  actual  field  of  vision.  He  had  searched  the  immediate 
vicinity  as  thoroughly  as  might  be  for  the  infantile  fugitive, 
and  his  heart  sank  within  him  as  he  reflected  upon  the  meas 
ureless  mountain  wilds  encompassing  the  little  home  on 
every  hand,  the  hideous  chasms  and  steeps,  the  lurking 
beasts  of  prey.  He  could  not  look  upon  the  trundle-bed, 
the  covering  thrown  off,  and  a  deep  indentation  on  the  fur 
ther  side,  where  the  fat  little  body  had  been  cosily  intrenched 
all  night,  with  nobody  knows  what  dreams  in  his  head,  or 
wakefully  devising  his  callow  schemes. 

With  the  alert  paternal  despair,  Bowles  felt  that  he  would 
never  again  see  there  the  rotund  little  fellow.  He  had  not 
his  wife's  capacity  for  self-centred  sorrow,  and  it  was  impos 
sible  for  him  to  regard  the  incident  personally  except  with 
keen  and  subtle  spasms  of  remorse,  his  ingenuity  fertile  in 
devising  more  reasons  for  repentance  than  the  bountiful 
reality  afforded. 

"  M'ria  —  M'ria,"  he  said  tremulously,  "  I  feel  obligated 
ter  go  down  an'  roust  up  all  the  men  in  the  Cove  ter  sarch. 
A  b'ar  or  a  painter  mought — mought  " —  He  could  not 
go  on. 

"  Shucks  !  "  retorted  his  wife  contemptuously.  "  Ef  he  's 
eat,  he  's  eat,  an'  the  men  in  the  Cove  can't  hender." 

She  slapped  the  dishes  down  upon  the  table  as  she  succes 
sively  wiped  each  piece,  and  there  was  temper  very  promi 
nently  apparent  even  in  her  tears. 


434   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOM  SEDGE  COVE. 

"  They  monght  hev  dragged  him  ter  thar  den,  —  I  hev 
hearn  o'  sech  doin's,"  the  luckless  Bowles  urged  desperately. 

"  I  know  what  den  he  's  in  :  he  's  in  the  den  o'  that  pain 
ter  or  wolf  ye  call  Teck  Jepson,  —  that 's  who  hev  'ticed 
him  off." 

She  was  sorry  she  had  spoken  when  she  noted  how 
Bowles's  face  cleared,  how  he  clutched  at  this  hope  ;  for  it 
was  one  of  the  prime  essentials  of  her  grief  that  it  should 
be  shared,  and  if  sympathy  did  not  prompt  her  companions 
to  make  it  their  own,  she  presently  gave  them  ample  occa 
sion  to  sorrow  for  their  own  sake.  This  bloodless  elucida 
tion  of  Bob's  disappearance  had  early  occurred  to  her.  He 
was  trying  to  make  his  way  to  his  uncle,  and  by  reason  of 
the  dense  undergrowth  it  would  be  difficult  for  him  to  do 
aught  but  follow  the  path  which  would  certainly  lead  him  to 
the  Cove,  where  he  would  probably  meet  and  electrify  every 
important  personage  of  Mrs.  Bowles's  world  before  encoun 
tering  the  object  of  his  search. 

"  That 's  a  fac' !  "  cried  Bowles  joyfully.  "  I  '11  go 
straight  down  yander  ter  Teck's  an'  see."  A  cloud  over 
cast  his  face.  "  It 's  a  long  way,  —  he  '11  never  git  thar. 
He  '11  set  down  an'  go  ter  sleep  on  the  side  o'  the  road  — 
an'  su'thin'  wild  mought  ketch  him  thar.  I  '11  go  —  I  '11  go, 
straight." 

"  Naw,  I  '11  go  myse'f,"  said  Mrs.  Bowles,  with  another 
gush  of  tears.  "  I  ain't  goin'  ter  hev  ye,  an'  Teck  Jepson, 
an'  Bob  —  yer  great  fine  Bob  !  —  a-showin'  off  yer  mis'ries 
down  in  the  Cove,  an'  a-makin'  out  ez  I  be  tur'ble  enough 
ter  harry  ye  all  out'n  house  an'  home.  Naw,  sir,  I  'm  goin' 
myse'f,  an  ye  '11  bide  hyar  an'  take  keer  o'  them  t'other  two 
chil'n,  an'  pur  vent  them  from  runnin'  away." 

Sim  and  A'minty  had  already  been  given  reason  to  mourn 
on  their  own  behalf,  Mrs.  Bowles  fancying  that  she  detected 
in  their  sullen  little  faces  a  relish  of  her  lachrymose  out 
bursts  and  protests  against  this  untoward  fate  that  had  some 
how  got  the  upper  hand  of  her.  But  despite  the  channels 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.        435 

of  tears  drying  on  their  cheeks,  that  spark  of  triumph  still 
shone  in  their  eyes,  and  she  could  not  quench  it.  She  saw 
it  anew  as  they  looked  up  on  being  mentioned,  and  she  was 
once  more  moved  to  accuse  them  of  complicity  in  Bob's 
flight,  which  had  been  the  pretext  of  the  previous  trouncings. 

"  Ye  A'minty,  ye  better  tell  me  which  way  Bob  went,  an' 
what  he  'lowed  he  war  goin'  ter  do,"  she  said,  stopping  in 
her  domestic  duties,  and  standing  with  arms  akimbo,  gazing 
down  at  the  tousled  red  head  and  tallowy  freckled  face  of 
the  little  girl. 

A'minty  looked  old  and  very  cautious  as  she  spoke ;  she 
held  the  yellow  cat,  with  the  green  eyes,  close  up  under  her 
chin  and  against  her  neck,  —  what  a  comfort  the  soft,  furry, 
purring  thing  was  ! 

"  I  dunno  !  "  she  declared.  u  Bob  don't  talk  none  sca'cely, 
'ceptin'  'bout'n  vittles." 

44 1  '11  be  bound  he  talks  rbout  vittles,  —  vittles  what  I  cook 
fur  him  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Bowles,  with  a  new  cadence  of  de 
spair.  "  Ter  think  I  lef  my  good  home  an?  a  plenty  o' 
marryin'  chances  down  in  the  Cove,  ter  kem  up  hyar  an' 
weave  an'  sew  an'  spin  an'  cook  an'  slave  from  mornin'  till 
night,  an'  fetch  up  another  'oman's  chil'n,  an'  yit  git 
n'ised  about  all  round  the  Cove  ez  bein'  mean,  an'  no- count, 
an'  neglec'ful.  I  jes'  know  how  dirty  Bob  will  be  afore  he 
gits  ter  the  Cove,  dirty  an'  tore  up,  an'  got  on  the  wust  dress 
he  hev  got  ter  save  his  life.  —  an'  folks  will  be  'lowin'  ez  I 
hev  repented  o'  my  bargain  a-marryin',  an'  hev  made  a 
mighty  pore  match.  The  Lord  knows  I  did,  but  I  don't 
want  Peter  Bryce  a-swaggerin'  round,  tickled  ter  death,  an' 
'lowin'  I  bed  better  hev  tuk  him  whenst  I  could  git  him." 

"  Laws-a-massy,  M'ria,  Peter  Bryce  knows  ye  would  n't 
gin  him  two  thoughts  ter  save  his  life,"  said  Bowles.  "  Heaps 
o'  folks's  chil'n  air  fractious  an'  gin  'em  trouble,  whether  they 
air  step-chil'n  or  no."  The  temporizer's  art  had  become 
singularly  facile  and  effective  in  the  continuous  exercise  which 
had  been  given  it.  Mrs.  Bowles's  countenance  cleared  fora 


436   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

moment ;  then  —  perhaps  it  was  a  definite  perception  of  the 
truth,  which  was  so  palpable  that  she  could  not  permit  her 
self  to  believe  that  it  would  be  less  apparent  to  others  than 
to  herself  —  it  was  clouded  anew,  and  she  broke  forth  an 
grily  :  — 

"  Naw  !  I  jes'  know  what  a  name  will  be  gin  me  by 
Peter  Bryce,  an'  Teck  Jepson,  an'  them  sanctified  women 
folks  in  the  Cove,  'lowin'  ez  I  be  cruel,  an'  cut  an'  slash  the 
chil'n,  I  reckon.  They  '11  take  no  notice  o'  how  fat  Bob  be! 
Teck  Jepson  sot  the  chil'n  all  agin  me  whenst  he  fust  kem 
hyar  ter  live.  Hain't  ye  hearn  Bob  talk  a  heap  'bout  his 
uncle  Teck  ?  —  tell  me  now,  Sim." 

Sim  twisted  one  bare  foot  over  the  other.  He  had  grown 
slow  in  being  so  doubtful  of  what  might  please,  or  rather 
least  displease.  He  continued  silent,  with  his  look  of  stupid 
cogitation,  until  she  observed  threateningly,  "  Now  sulk,  ef 
ye  air  so  minded,"  when  he  broke  forth  precipitately  :  — 

"  Bob  say  uncle  Teck  air  big  an'  high,  an'  hev  kilt  a  heap 
o'  painters  an'  b'ars  —  an'  —  an',"  he  faltered,  "  ef  enny- 
body  tuk  arter  him,  uncle  Teck  war  a-goin'  ter  settle  'em ; 
all  he  hed  ter  do  war  ter  let  uncle  Teck  know." 

Mrs.  Bowles  whirled  round  in  triumph. 

"  Thar,  now  !  "  she  exclaimed  to  her  husband.  "  What 
did  I  tell  ye  ?  I  hearn  Teck  say  them  very  words  ter  that 
thar  chile  the  las'  night  he  war  hyar.  He  's  gone  ter  Teck 
Jepson  !  Teck  Jepson  hev  enticed  him  away  !  Teck  Jep 
son  air  yer  painter  an'  yer  wolf  !  " 

Once  more  she  burst  into  stormy  tears.  It  is  a  hard  thing 
to  say  of  her,  but  the  catastrophe  that  threatened  the  child 
lost  in  the  savage  wilderness  seemed  less  terrible  to  her  than 
the  mental  picture  of  Bob  at  large  in  the  Cove,  revealing  to 
the  gossips  the  secrets  of  the  domestic  administration  at  the 
cabin  in  the  notch  of  the  mountain. 

She  made  her  preparations  somewhat  swiftly  after  that,  — 
although  she  did  not  neglect  to  prepare  and  set  aside  a  goodly 
amount  of  wholesome  food  for  the  consumption  of  the  family 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.   437 

during  her  absence,  —  animated  by  the  intention  of  allow 
ing  Bob  as  little  time  as  possible  to  ventilate,  consciously  or 
unconsciously,  the  domestic  discords.  She  wished  very 
heartily,  as  she  mounted  the  horse  which  Jepson  had  lent 
them,  that  she  was  leaving  the  door  never  to  enter  it  again  ; 
but  as  she  looked  about  the  little  cabin,  with  the  solemn 
purple  mountains  clustering  in  the  background,  and  took 
note  of  the  silence  and  solitude  that  possessed  the  world, 
save  within  those  paltry  inclosures  where  the  pigs  and  the 
poultry  fed,  and  within  the  house  with  the  sullen,  brow 
beaten  children  in  the  porch,  she  reflected  that  she  was 
likely  to  grow  gray  here,  and  she  sighed  deeply  as  she  took 
up  the  reins.  There  is  no  sorrow  nor  sympathy  so  sincere 
as  that  which  we  feel  for  ourselves.  She  could  not  even  be 
sure  of  Ben  Bowles's  grief  for  her  mortification,  indefinite 
and  docile  as  he  was.  He  stood,  to  be  sure,  with  a  long 
face  and  a  hand  shielding  his  much-grooved  brow  and  his 
eyes  from  the  glare  rather  than  the  sun,  —  for  it  lurked  be 
hind  the  clouds,  and  only  from  tenuous  areas  of  vapor  it 
sent  forth  this  occasional  tempered  white  suffusion,  —  and 
dutifully  watched  her  out  of  sight ;  but  one  might  well 
fancy  that  it  was  a  day  of  more  quiet  and  peace  within 
doors  than  the  cabin  had  known  since  the  bride  came  home  ; 
and  even  she,  with  all  her  personal  arrogations,  was  aware 
that  he  relished  it. 

The  day  was  gray.  The  heights  wore  a  deep  purple  with 
a  vague  blue  and  blurring  effect,  as  if  some  invisible,  impal 
pable  veil  of  mist  had  interposed  a  short  distance  from 
the  wooded  slopes.  There  was  rain  in  the  clouds,  but  they 
loitered  ;  no  downfall  was  threatened  for  some  hours  yet : 
nevertheless,  mindful  of  the  freshness  of  a  crisp  pink  calico 
dress  and  bonnet,  Mrs.  Bowles  doubted  the  reliability  of 
her  own  resources  as  a  weather-prophet.  She  drew  up  the 
horse  where  the  road  forked,  and  hesitated.  It  was  not 
such  weather  as  she  would  have  chosen  for  a  jaunt  into  the 
Cove,  and  she  winced  from  the  idea  cf  presenting  herself, 


438   THE  DESPOT  OF  DROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

forlorn  and  bedraggled  by  the  rain,  among  her  old  ac 
quaintances.  She  needed  all  her  fortitude  and  all  the  pres 
tige  of  fresh  and  immaculate  attire.  She  wished  that  she 
had  let  Bowles  undertake  the  expedition  in  her  stead,  as  he 
had  proposed.  She  was  on  the  point  of  turning  back,  when 
another  of  those  white  suffusions  through  the  translucent 
clouds  gave  cheer  to  the  landscape,  lifted  suddenly  into  defi 
nite  color  and  hopeful  augury  for  the  rest  of  the  day.  "  An' 
I  '11  take  the  short  cut,"  she  muttered,  as  she  turned  the 
horse  aside  into  the  less  traveled  and  weed-grown  way.  But 
for  the  thinning  of  the  leaves  on  the  bushes  that  grew  close 
on  either  hand,  and  the  sere,  dried,  wisp-like  estate  of  the 
grasses  and  weeds  in  its  midst,  it  might  have  appeared  more 
like  a  groove  amongst  the  foliage  than  a  path ;  but  here 
and  there  it  emerged  into  rocky  spaces,  where  it  wound  with 
definite  curves,  and  she  wondered  that  it  should  present  this 
trodden  and  well-worn  aspect.  "  Cows  take  along  it,  I 
reckon,"  she  hazarded. 

There  was  no  moisture  on  the  leaves  nor  on  the  withered 
grasses,  and  there  seemed  an  incongruity  in  this,  with  the 
lowering  lead-tinted  sky  full  of  rain,  and  the  dank  smell  of 
moisture  in  the  air,  for  there  had  been  "  falling  weather  " 
somewhere  in  the  vicinity.  She  heard  a  rain-crow  raucously 
call  out  in  the  silence,  and  then  all  was  still,  so  still !  The 
summer  songs  of  weed  and  twig  were  hushed ;  the  air  was 
void,  —  no  whirl  of  birds,  no  whisking  gossamer  cicada; 
the  stir  of  the  crisp  dry  grass  under  her  horse's  hoofs  and 
the  creak  of  the  saddle  as  it  swayed  slightly  were  lond  and 
assertive  in  default  of  other  sound.  Now  and  again  she 
observed  how  the  mountains  changed  their  aspect,  viewed 
from  a  different  point ;  but  however  the  contour  varied,  that 
sombre  purple  tint  filled  the  landscape,  save  when  the  dis 
tance  dulled  it  to  gray.  A  drear  day,  shut  in  by  clouds  and 
strangely  without  moral  perspectives  as  well ;  all  the  outlook 
seemed  limited  by  that  gray,  silent  presence,  that  had  an 
aspect  of  perpetuity  like  a  doom,  as  if  it  would  lift  no  more. 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       439 

She  had  heen  nearly  an  hour  in  the  saddle,  and  the  valley 
appeared  but  little  nearer  than  at  the  outset.  She  began  to 
doubt  if  the  little  mountaineer  could  have  reached  the  Cove. 
"It 's  a  good  piece,  — a  good  piece,"  she  said  meditatively. 
"  But  then  Bob  mus'  walk  a  hunderd  mile  a  day,  I  reckon, 
playin'  round  like  he  do,  an'  he  be  plumb  survigrous." 

She  had  neared  a  depression  in  the  range,  through  which 
was  visible  a  section  of  the  Carolina  mountains.  She  turned 
her  eyes  mechanically  toward  them,  hardly  noting  a  little 
cabin  that  she  had  known  to  be  deserted  for  many  a  year, 
and  that  stood  on  the  slope  of  a  great  dome  which  towered 
far  above.  The  distant  ranges  were  gray  as  those  nearer 
at  hand ;  nowhere  in  the  world  was  a  brighter  spot  visible 
than  the  dull  encompassing  monotony.  No  movement,  not 
even  the  slow  shifting  of  the  mountain  mist,  till  suddenly  a 
handsome  gray  mare  trotted  out  from  the  rear  of  the  cabin, 
where  Mrs.  Bowles  now  perceived  was  a  flimsy  shanty  of  a 
barn.  A  heap  of  ashes  lay  at  one  side  of  the  yard.  Her 
approach  frightened  away  a  weasel  that  had  been  feeding 
on  some  broken  bits  of  food  by  the  doorstep.  The  cabin 
was  evidently  tenanted. 

"  Waal,  sir  !  "  she  soliloquized.  "  I  never  knowed  ez 
ennybody  bed  moved  up  ter  this  old  houee,  —  ez  be  fairly 
fallin'  ter  pieces,"  she  added,  her  critical  eye  taking  note  of 
the  dilapidated  doorsteps,  the  rotten  rail  fence,  broken  down 
to  the  ground  in  many  places,  the  strange  lack  of  garden  or 
field.  So  lonely  was  her  life  on  the  mountain,  so  uncon 
genial  the  companionship  to  which  she  had  doomed  herself, 
that  she  had  at  first  experienced  a  glow  of  gratulation  to 
discover  neighbors,  even  so  distant  as  this  ;  now  it  was  tem 
pered  by  the  fear  that  inmates  so  shiftless  and  uncaring  as 
the  external  evidences  would  intimate  could  hardly  prove  a 
valuable  acquisition.  She  had  drawn  rein,  and  sat  motion 
less  in  the  saddle,  silently  contemplating  the  scene,  each  new 
item  of  neglect  or  decay  that  presented  itself  to  her  obser 
vation  adding  to  the  reprobation  expressed  in  the  primly 


440   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

disapproving  compression  of  the  flexible  lips  and  the  quick 
glances  of  her  bead-like  eyes  from  under  the  brim  of  her 
pink  sun-bonnet.  Her  code  of  manners  and  morals,  and  her 
stringent  requisites  for  the  government  of  other  people, 
were  very  complete,  and  her  record  as  a  diligent  and  exact 
ing  censor  had  few  instances  of  relaxation  or  clemency. 
She  was  on  the  point  of  turning  away,  taking  a  certain  sat 
isfaction  in  the  thought  that  she  would  make  no  overtures 
to  people  with  a  doorstep  like  that,  when  it  suddenly  oc 
curred  to  her  that  the  vagrant  Bob  might  have  earlier  dis 
covered  the  dwellers  in  this  secluded  nook,  and  have 
established  himself  upon  the  footing  of  an  occasional  visitor. 
Her  face  changed.  "He  mought  be  in  that  house  this 
minit,"  she  reflected  hopefully.  "  Likely  ez  not  he  hain't 
gone  down  to  the  Cove  at  all." 

There  was  no  sign  of  the  usual  guard-dogs  about  the 
house,  and  as  she  slipped  down  from  the  saddle  upon  the 
ground  her  curiosity  was  all  newly  aquiver,  since  it  could 
be  gratified  at  no  cost  of  personal  dignity ;  for  she  came 
not  to  offer  her  acquaintance,  but  upon  her  own  important 
errand,  the  search  for  her  step-child.  There  are  few  peo 
ple  who  can  feel  so  exclusive  a  joy  in  trimness  and  freshness 
as  did  Mrs.  Bowles,  for  it  was  her  belief  that  there  had 
never  been  so  crisp  a  pink  calico  since  the  Great  Smoky 
Mountains  were  built ;  and  indeed,  a  stranger  who  had  no 
previous  acquaintance  with  Mrs.  Bowles  and  her  methods 
could  not  have  failed  to  consider  the  color  of  her  attire  sin 
gularly  clear  and  dainty  in  the  dark,  gray  day,  and  the 
glimpse  of  the  smooth  olive  complexion  and  glancing  dark 
eyes  and  shadowy  dark  hair  eminently  prepossessing.  As 
she  stood  on  the  contemned  doorstep  and  tapped  lightly 
upon  the  door,  she  smoothed  down  a  fold  with  a  calm  pleas 
ure  in  anticipating  the  effect  of  her  appearance  on  the  mem 
bers  of  the  household,  and  the  depths  of  envy  into  which 
it  would  plunge  them.  Some  moments  were  beguiled  with 
these  reflections  before  she  became  impatient  because  of  no 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       441 

response.  When  she  knocked  again,  the  ensuing  silence  was 
so  marked  that  her  attention  was  diverted  from  the  personal 
considerations  that  had  absorbed  her,  and  she  began  to  look 
about  with  a  keener  curiosity,  hampered,  nevertheless,  by  a 
thrill  of  vague  fear.  She  sent  a  glance  that  had  all  the  in 
centive  of  prying  toward  the  batten  shutter,  in  which  she  had 
noted,  with  disparaging  eyes,  a  long  rift ;  it  was  not  so  high 
from  the  ground  ;  she  might  have  peered  through  had  she 
dared.  She  did  not  dare  ;  she  only  knocked  again,  and  began 
to  doubt  whether  any  one  were  within.  But  for  the  ashes 
and  the  broken  bits  of  food  —  and  once  more  she  heard  the 
hoof-beats  of  the  mare  trotting  back  to  her  stall,  satisfied 
by  her  sally  for  investigation  — the  place  would  have 
seemed  as  lonely,  as  deserted,  as  she  had  always  known  it 
hitherto.  Perhaps  it  was  the  sense  of  solitude  that  em 
boldened  her ;  perhaps  the  phenomenal  opportunity  of  ob 
serving  the  domestic  methods  and  rummaging  the  belongings 
of  the  absent  dwellers.  The  door,  not  well  closed,  had 
moved  under  her  hand,  as  she  knocked  upon  it ;  it  was 
evidently  unlatched.  She  pressed  it  a  trifle  further  ajar. 
Then  she  was  still  for  a  moment,  the  dark  red  color  suffus 
ing  her  cheek,  responsive  to  an  imaginary  rebuke  to  so 
unmannerly  an  intruder.  But  no  word  broke  the  silence. 
The  door  shifted  a  trifle,  so  ill-hung  it  was,  and  Mrs.  Bowles 
advanced  her  foot  on  the  threshold.  The  next  moment  she 
drew  back  with  a  sharp  cry.  A  man  was  stretched  at  full 
length  on  the  floor,  with  a  pallid,  pinched  face,  —  a  face 
like  death. 


XXV. 

EUGENE  RATHBURN  could  hardly  be  said  to  have  awak 
ened  from  his  deep  sleep,  that  stormy  night  in  the  Great 
Smoky  Mountains,  when  Jake  Baintree  kept  his  strange  vigil 
by  the  side  of  the  dying  fire.  The  alien  scenes  of  his  dream 
were  suddenly  possessed  by  a  wild,  unrealized  tumult.  His 
dormant  consciousness  became  in  some  sort  aware  of  a  pierc 
ing  sound,  a  fibrous,  funnel-shaped  glare,  fierce  but  fleeting, 
and  then  he  saw  no  more,  knew  no  more,  not  even  thus 
vaguely.  How  long  he  lay  there  on  the  floor  of  the  moun 
tain  hut,  in  a  pool  of  his  own  blood,  he  never  sought  to  com 
pute.  One  morning,  while  the  rain  yet  beat  on  the  roof, 
and  the  gullies  ran  full  beneath  the  eaves  ;  while  the  mists 
still  further  secluded  the  solitary  spot,  practically  as  inacces 
sible  as  if  it  had  been  lifted  amidst  the  clouds  that  closed 
about  it,  his  memory  came  back  to  him,  his  identity  renewed 
with  his  body  its  coexistence,  and  he  realized  who  it  was 
lying  wounded,  fevered,  exhausted  from  the  loss  of  blood, 
on  the  fireless  hearth,  where  he  had  fallen  asleep  when  it 
was  all  a-sparkle  and  aglow,  his  own  pistol,  smoke-black 
ened,  albeit  but  freshly  cleaned  and  oiled,  on  the  floor  beside 
him. 

"  When  the  corpse  is  found,"  he  said  impersonally,  "  if 
it  ever  is  found,  it  might  suggest  a  suicide." 

He  experienced  a  feeble  surprise  to  gauge  the  interest 
with  which  he  noted  the  relative  position  of  his  weapon  and 
his  helpless  body,  and  vaguely  presaged  the  deductions  of 
the  coroner's  jury. 

The  fallibility  of  the  supposititious  verdict  recurring  to  his 
mind  after  the  sense  of  a  long  and  vacant  interval  made  him 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.   443 

aware  that  he  had  again  been  unconscious,  and  had  but  now 
revived  anew.  Somehow,  he  wondered  that  he  had  ever 
dwelt  upon  it.  He  no  longer  thought  of  himself  as  the  life 
less  shell  that  might  lie  here  impassive  till  some  chance  — 
nay,  the  predestined  urgency  of  retribution  —  should  lead 
hitherward  a  stranger's  step  to  discover  Jake  Baintree's 
crime.  He  felt  the  throb  of  a  turbulent  resentment.  He 
thirsted  for  revenge.  A  frail  tenement,  to  be  sure,  his  shat 
tered  body  afforded  for  these  robust  and  full-pulsed  passions. 
Professionally  speaking,  he  presently  recognized  the  symptom 
with  a  new  hope,  —  he  was  stronger,  far  stronger  than  he 
had  thought.  He  had  slept,  he  was  sure,  —  slept  despite 
his  burning  thirst,  his  gnawing  pain.  He  had  a  dual  series 
of  impressions,  the  keenness  of  the  one  hardly  mitigated  by 
the  poignancy  of  the  other.  He  took  note  of  his  own  sensa 
tions,  both  as  physician  and  patient,  and  when  he  had  lifted 
himself  upon  his  elbow  to  examine  the  wounds,  —  there  were 
two,  the  pistol-shots  fired  at  such  close  range  as  to  scorch 
his  garments,  —  his  face  blanched  to  a  yet  more  pallid  tint 
as  he  looked  ;  but  with  a  sort  of  mechanical  professional 
reticence  he  said  not  a  word  that  might  have  roused  the 
alarm  of  a  patient  in  like  case.  As  he  lay  back  upon  the 
blood-soaked  rug,  he  closed  his  eyes  to  wait,  —  to  hope  that 
it  might  not  be  long.  His  wounds  were  serious  enough  in 
any  case,  but  here,  without  food,  parched  with  thirst,  with 
out  skilled  care  or  the  merest  ignorant  help,  it  was  only  a 
question  of  time.  His  mind  canvassed  the  alternatives,  —  to 
die  of  his  wounds  and  the  exposure,  or  to  starve.  As  he 
thought  of  the  relative  anguish  of  the  two  fates  that  im 
pended,  he  felt  that  his  wounds  were  not  so  hopeless ;  he 
had  doubtless  exaggerated  their  menace  ;  he  would  starve 
to  death,  here  in  these  lofty  altitudes,  very  slowly,  very  pain 
fully  ;  for  although  he  was  of  no  great  stature  or  muscular 
strength,  his  constitution  was  tough  and  promised  resistance. 
"  1 11  have  an  awful  time  before  I  get  off,"  he  said  to  him 
self  in  a  panic.  He  writhed  slightly  as  he  spoke,  although 


444   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

he  had  sedulously  sought  to  lie  still,  that  the  gaping  wounds 
might  not  bleed  afresh,  and  as  he  stirred  his  hand  touched 
something  cold,  from  which  he  recoiled.  It  was  only  the  bar 
rel  of  his  pistol,  sleek  and  shining,  and  with  a  ready  suggestion 
lurking  in  its  muzzle.  The  time  might  be  no  longer  than 
he  willed  it,  the  pain  no  greater  than  he  chose  to  bear.  He 
had  a  definite  technical  knowledge  wherewith  to  plant  the 
ball  in  lieu  of  Baintree's  clumsy  haphazard  ignorance.  He 
drew  back  his  hand  from  the  cold  touch  of  the  insensate 
metal  that  beguiled  him  with  this  reasoning  from  out  its 
hollow  jaws  ;  he  shrank  from  the  idea  as  if  he  definitely 
appreciated  the  crime  to  which  he  was  tempted.  "  No,"  he 
said  aloud  in  a  strong  voice,  —  "  no,  my  good  friend  Jake, 
this  is  your  job,  and  you  shall  swing  for  it.  I  '11  do  nothing 
to  hinder,  if  I  lie  here  a  year  and  a  day  in  the  pangs  of 
hunger." 

Once  more  he  recognized,  with  a  start,  the  lapse  of  a  va 
cant  interval.  His  professional  consciousness,  first  of  all  his 
mental  faculties,  took  note  of  it.  "  Sleep  is  the  best  thing, 
—  quiet  and  sleep,  —  itself  a  curative  agent,"  he  muttered 
feebly,  drowsing  off  again.  He  waked  now,  however,  at 
frequent  intervals.  Once  he  noted  that  the  rain  had  ceased 
its  melancholy  drone  on  the  roof,  and  once  he  heard  the 
wind.  The  mists  fell  away  from  the  window,  where  he 
had  dully  marked  their  presence  close  to  the  rift  in  the 
batten  shutter,  and  feeble  shafts  of  sunlight  flickered  across 
the  melancholy,  fireless  hearth,  and  anon  faded  out.  Sud 
denly  a  galvanic  thrill  jarred  every  pulse,  as  he  lay  motion 
less,  his  eyelids  half  closed.  Delirium,  surely.  How  hard 
it  was,  he  thought,  that  he  would  have  differentiated  the 
symptoms  so  certainly  were  the  hurt  another  man's,  but  that 
even  his  own  professional  skill  could  avail  him  naught,  could 
not  serve  as  the  one  friend  in  the  world  he  had  earned,  as 
he  lay  here  dying  and  alone  in  this  innermost  seclusion  of 
solitude !  Deny  it  however  his  reason  might,  call  it  fever, 
or  fantasy,  or  fear,  his  eyes  were  fastened  on  Baintree's  face 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       445 

peering  in  at  the  rifts  of  the  shutter,  — peering  in,  a  pallid, 
drawn,  distorted  likeness  of  himself,  such  as  might  haunt  the 
dying  dreams  of  the  man  he  had  murdered.  Fact  or  fic 
tion,  the  sight  petrified  Rathburn.  He  did  not  stir  a  fibre  ; 
his  half-closed  eyes  were  fixed  ;  while  his  mind  took  eager 
cognizance  of  the  probability  that  this  should  be  the  figure 
to  loom  in  his  fevered  fancy,  he  wondered  that  the  delir 
ium  should  so  furnish  forth  the  detail  and  circumstance  of 
its  delusion ;  that  the  face  in  the  rift  of  the  shutter  should 
blanch,  and  shrink  away,  and  come  again,  with  a  look  of 
fascinated  horror,  to  peer  within  ;  that  the  figment  of  fever 
should  put  up  a  hand,  so  long,  so  thin,  so  well  remembered, 
to  hold  the  flapping  shutter  still;  that  the  mere  idea  of 
crafty,  furtive,  terrified  eyes  should  scan  the  lines  of  his 
motionless  figure  with  an  expression  he  could  never  have 
imagined,  as  if  hoping  to  detect  a  movement,  yet  fearing, 
and  then  despairing.  Suddenly,  with  a  spasm  of  remorse 
that  naught  but  the  actuality  of  anguish  could  depict  upon  a 
human  countenance,  the  face  disappeared.  Was  it  fancy, 
too,  or  did  he  hear  the  dead  leaves  rustle  beneath  a  sham 
bling  step?  Other  ears,  hardly  so  keen,  so  expectant,  as 
his  own,  took  heed.  There  was  the  tramp  of  hoofs  outside, 
trotting  from  the  shanty  of  a  stable  and  around  the  house, 
and  his  mare's  shrill  whinny  of  recognition  rang  out  cheer 
fully,  as  if  the  creature  welcomed  the  sight  of  any  familiar 
being,  so  long  left  lonely  as  she  had  been.  Rathburn 
doubted  no  more.  He  heard  his  feeble  breath  flutter,  his 
faint  heart  beat,  the  sound  seeming  loud  and  obstructive  in 
the  silence,  so  did  his  ear  yearn  to  follow  the  footsteps, 
hoping  that  they  were  bearing  Jake  Baintree  away,  satisfied 
that  his  work  had  been  done  thoroughly,  and  fearing  lest  he 
enter  to  reassure  himself  anew.  It  seemed  long,  long  after 
he  could  detect  no  further  intimation  of  Baintree's  progress 
that  the  mare,  whom  he  fancied  standing  still  without,  gaz 
ing  after  the  slouching,  retreating  figure,  turned,  and  slowly 
ambled  back  to  her  stall.  Even  in  the  tumult  of  his  agita- 


446       THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

tion  Rathburn  reflected  with  satisfaction  that  she  was  at 
liberty,  with  food  and  running  water  at  hand.  **  Else  I  'd 
have  to  get  out  of  this  somehow,"  he  said,  for  he  would 
have  sacrificed  much  in  the  sacred  cause  of  physical  suffer 
ing  ;  even  a  brute's  pain  might  not  appeal  to  him  in  vain. 
A  new  hope  came  to  him.  Could  he  but  foster  the  strength 
to  lift  himself,  to  creep  to  the  door,  to  make  shift  to  mount 
the  animal,  he  might  still  escape;  he  might  reach  some 
friendly  hut,  and,  with  food  and  nursing,  save  his  life. 
With  hope  a  torturing  fear  arose  because  the  mare  was  at 
liberty.  She  would  grow  tired  and  lonely,  and  would  wan 
der  away.  He  heard  again  the  quick  beat  of  her  hoofs,  as 
she  came  snorting  forth  once  more,  expectant  of  Baintree's 
return.  He  forgot  her  the  next  moment,  in  the  realization 
of  what  this  possibility  boded  for  him.  Remorse,  was  it,  on 
Baintree's  face,  as  he  peered  in  at  the  rigid  form,  so  still  on 
the  fireless  hearth  ?  How  long  would  it  have  lasted,  Rath- 
burn  asked  himself,  with  a  sneer,  had  the  rigid  form  moved, 
had  the  eyelids  stirred,  had  Baintree  possessed  more  expert 
knowledge  of  the  signs  of  death  ?  A  chance  might  bring 
him  back,  as  a  chance  had  brought  him  first  to  gaze,  with  a 
fascinated  horror,  on  the  deed  he  had  done,  and  then  he 
would  do  it,  in  self-defense,  more  surely.  No  sound,  no  stir 
without,  listen  as  he  might,  but  the  wind  and  the  scudding 
leaf,  till  presently,  with  a  long-drawn  breath,  the  mare  trotted 
back  once  more  to  munch  her  corn. 

Rathburn  was  all  on  the  alert,  although  he  strove  to  lie 
still  and  calm  his  nerves.  "  All  this  excitement  is  bad,"  he 
rebuked  himself,  as  if  he  were  an  unruly  patient.  And  then 
relapsing  into  his  other  role,  he  strove  to  adjust  his  mind  in 
obedience  to  the  professional  dictum.  He  could  sleep  no 
more,  with  the  expectation,  the  fear,  of  Baintree's  return  vigi 
lant  in  every  nerve.  He  watched  the  sunlight  strike  across 
the  floor,  reddening  now,  with  vague  motes  bespangling 
the  broad  bars,  so  still,  so  silent,  that  when  a  rat,  swift  and 
lean  and  whiskered,  sped  through  it,  he  gave  a  start  of  re- 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.      447 

pulsion  that  sent  a  pain  as  of  dislocation  throughout  his 
frame,  and  roused  a  new  terror  in  his  helplessness.  But 
the  rat  fled  as  he  lifted  his  hand,  and  his  attention  was 
called  to  the  lure  that  had  brought  it  from  its  hole  —  the 
broken  bits  of  bread  fallen  from  the  table  when  overturned 
last  night  —  last  night  ?  —  he  knew  not  how  many  nights 
ago,  and  never  was  the  wiser.  Some  of  the  food  was  within 
his  reach,  —  it  had  lain  on  the  unswept  floor,  and  the  rats  had 
perhaps  fought  over  it ;  he  had  a  strong  loathing  for  it,  but 
he  felt  better  after  eating  a  morsel  of  bread,  and  reflected 
that  he  was  hardly  likely  to  relish  daintier  food  if  he  had  had 
it.  So  much  of  vigor  did  it  impart  that  he  dragged  himself, 
after  ar  time,  by  slow  and  agonized  degrees,  across  the  floor 
to  the  shelf  whereon  was  the  little  medicine-chest  the  gratu 
itous  services  of  which  he  had  proffered  to  Baintree.  He 
lay  still  for  some  time,  exhausted  by  his  exertions,  when  he 
had  crawled  back  to  his  pallet.  At  last,  mindful  of  the 
dulling  light,  he  opened  the  lid  of  the  chest,  and  his  hand 
poised  hovering  above  the  rows  of  bottles. 

"  This  opportunity,"  he  remarked  satirically,  "  of  trying 
one's  remedies  in  propria  persona  is  one  which  few  young 
surgeons  have  the  privilege  of  enjoying." 

And  then  he  was  reminded  to  glance  up  warily  at  the 
window,  trembling  anew  at  the  thought  of  Baintree  and  the 
conclusive  significance  of  his  attitude  should  the  crafty 
mountaineer  once  more  peer  through  the  window,  lured 
again  by  some  morbid  fascination  to  the  scene  of  his  crime. 

He  was  glad  to  watch  the  red  light  fade  on  the  brown 
walls,  to  note  the  purpling  spaces  of  the  twilight  through 
the  rift  in  the  batten  shutter  ;  for  as  the  shadows  mustered 
about  him  he  felt  indistinguishable  in  their  midst,  —  indis 
tinguishable  even  to  eyes  so  keen,  so  furtive,  as  those  he 
fancied  forever  at  the  window. 

He  thought  of  the  caution,  the  vigilance,  the  skill,  that, 
were  he  the  poorest  charity  patient  in  the  wards  of  a  hos 
pital,  his  wounds  would  command  ;  r.ud  the  contrast  of  liis 


448   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

plight  here,  to  die  so  far  from  help,  and  the  prospect  of  the 
suffering  of  the  dreary  interval  before  his  release,  forced  a 
groan  from  his  lips.  He  distrusted  the  treatment  he  had 
administered  ;  he  had  used  perforce  what  he  had,  not  what 
he  would  have  chosen.  His  mind  ran  continually  upon  the 
remedies  that  he  would  have  applied  had  the  means  been 
at  hand.  He  kept  thinking  of  himself  as  some  impersonal 
patient.  A  gnawing  trouble  beset  his  mind  because  of  the 
deficiency  of  his  resources. 

"  I  ought  to  get  somebody  to  look  after  that  chap.  He  's 
a  goner,  I  reckon,  but  somebody  ought  to  go  through  the 
motions  of  trying  to  save  him." 

His  fever  was  rising  ;  more  than  once  he  caught  himself 
lifted  upon  his  elbow,  and  searching  with  dilated  eyes 
amongst  the  rows  of  bottles  in  the  chest,  in  the  dim  glimmer 
of  the  twilight,  for  he  knew  not  what.  "  I  ought  n't  to  be 
trusted  with  these  things  !  "  he  cried  in  a  sudden  lucid  panic, 
as  the  realization  of  the  rift  between  his  discriminating  mind 
and  his  groping,  foolish  hands,  free  to  follow  their  own  vague 
impulses  amongst  the  powerful  drugs,  forced  itself  into  his 
thoughts.  He  closed  the  lid  with  a  snap,  and  gathering  his 
strength  and  setting  his  teeth  hard,  he  flung  the  chest  from 
him,  he  knew  not  where  in  the  darkness.  He  heard  it 
crash  against  the  wall  and  drop  to  the  floor,  with  a  fine,  high, 
crystalline  shiver,  as  of  the  breaking  of  the  vials  within  ; 
then,  as  he  lay  still,  with  perverse  ingenuity  his  uncontrol- 
able  thought  began  to  canvass  where  it  had  fallen,  dedu 
cing  the  locality  from  the  sound.  "  Oh,  I  could  get  it  again, 
get  it  mighty  easy,  if  I  am  delirious,  and  could  take  enough 
poison  to  establish  a  suicide  and  set  Jake  Baintree  free." 

He  dwelt  upon  the  idea  with  irritable  suspense,  now  and 
again  starting  violently,  as  if  he  truly  harbored  the  fancied 
impulse  that  he  sought  to  restrain.  A  stir  without,  —  the 
approach  of  a  real  danger  nullified  this  terror  of  the  nerves. 
The  dead  leaves  rustled.  A  step  —  the  wind  ?  He  lay  mo 
tionless,  hardly  daring  to  breathe.  It  came  again,  and 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.   449 

presently  a  crunching  sound  and  a  snarl.  He  experienced 
momentary  relief  :  some  wild  thing  was  gnawing  the  bones 
and  bits  of  meat  flung  out  into  the  yard,  for  the  prospectors 
had  not  been  careful  housekeepers.  He  had  often  heard 
this  as  he  chanced  to  wake  at  night,  but  now  he  reflected 
that  the  door  must  be  ajar,  —  a  touch  would  open  it ;  and 
with  his  wounds  and  fever  and  helplessness  he  was  at  the 
mercy  of  the  wild  beasts.  He  reached  out  his  hand  to 
make  sure  that  the  revolver  was  beside  him.  In  touching 
it  his  confidence  was  restored  in  some  sort,  yet  in  this  en 
vironment  he  could  not  sleep,  despite  the  drowsy  influences 
of  weakness  and  fever.  The  repulsion  of  it  even  in  a  meas 
ure  dominated  delirium.  Sometimes  he  would  hear  his  voice 
break  forth  incoherently  upon  the  air  ;  then  subdue  himself 
to  silence  to  listen  to  the  jaws  of  the  startled  beast,  once 
more  at  work  upon  the  bones. 

Toward  midnight  the  moon  rose.  Through  the  rift  in 
the  batten  shutter  the  melancholy  golden  bars  struck  across 
the  floor.  The  scene  within,  so  hateful  to  his  eyes,  revived 
from  the  encompassing  gloom,  —  the  few  chairs,  the  over 
turned  table,  the  great,  wide,  vacant  hearth,  his  long  figure 
stretched  at  length  amongst  the  rigid,  blood-stiffened  folds 
of  the  rug,  and  the  untouched  pallet  of  the  fugitive.  And 
later,  down  the  broad  shaft  of  the  stick-and-clay  chimney 
the  clear  lustre  burned  amid  the  fireless  gray  ashes,  all 
gleaming  white.  No  sound  from  without  now,  and  the 
wind  was  laid.  Here  all  solitary,  save  for  the  moon.  As 
the  reminiscent,  meditative  mood  that  comes  in  her  train 
drowsed  down  with  quiescent  influence  upon  his  senses,  he 
wondered  vaguely  that  he  should  think  of  the  great  golden 
disk,  waning  and  yellow,  as  it  looked  when  it  hung  above 
the  pines  without,  and  silvered  the  frosted  grasses  of  the 
great  bare  dome  of  the  mountain,  and  made  the  vast  spaces 
of  the  sky  blue  with  that  fine  deep  tint  of  the  lunar  nights ; 
not  as  it  had  looked  elsewhere,  in  foreign  lands,  or  shim 
mering  in  deep  sea  waters,  or  in  the  grotesque  incongruity 


450   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

of  its  melancholy  and  its  poetry  over  the  sordid  streets  of 
cities,  —  only  here,  where  it  seemed  native.  And  the  faces 
that  came  to  him  were  not  those  that  he  had  known  in 
that  wider  life  of  his,  conventional,  comfortable,  eventless, 
he  seemed  discarded  by  the  past,  an  alien  to  the  future.  He 
could  only  think  of  the  days  just  at  hand,  and  of  those  who 
had  walked  through  them,  and  his  heart  was  bitter  against 
them  all,  —  all  except  Marcella.  And  somehow,  with  her 
face  in  his  mind,  and  her  name  forming  itself  on  his  lips, 
he  fell  asleep  in  the  silence  of  the  dull  gray  dawn  and  the 
fading  glamours  of  the  yellow  moon. 

Her  name  was  on  his  lips  when  he  woke.  "  Marcella !  " 
he  cried  aloud,  with  a  vague  idea  that  she  was  standing  in 
the  door.  He  lifted  himself  on  his  elbow,  his  heart  throb 
bing  with  the  thought  that  she  had  brought  deliverance  to 
him,  and  a  fear  that  the  image  was  but  the  distraught  fan^ 
tasy  of  his  fevered  brain.  She  seemed  to  change  her  iden 
tity  before  his  very  eyes.  He  had  a  vague  sense  that  the 
walls  were  still  resounding  with  a  shrill  cry  ;  was  it  he  who 
had  uttered  it,  or  she  ? 

It  was  not  repeated.  Of  all  the  possibilities  to  steady 
Mrs.  Bowles's  nerves  in  this  unlooked-for  emergency,  naught 
could  have  been  as  efficacious  as  the  error  of  mistaking  her 
for  another  woman. 

"'T  ain't  Marcelly !  "  she  observed  stiffly,  while  he  still 
lay  motionless,  half  lifted  on  his  elbow,  staring  at  her  as  if 
every  faculty  were  merged  in  that  of  sight. 

She  made  a  motion  as  if  to  withdraw,  despite  her  cu 
riosity  ;  then  she  bethought  herself  of  her  inexplicable  in 
trusion,  the  breach  of  good  manners  on  which  she  piqued 
herself,  and  thus  of  her  errand. 

"  I  knocked,  but  nobody  answered,"  she  observed  primly 
and  politely,  although  her  bead-like  eyes,  glancing  to  and 
fro,  were  distended  to  a  degree  which  had  no  precedent  of 
elasticity  in  their  experience,  as  she  noted  the  paucity  of  the 
furniture,  the  dust,  the  fireless  hearth.  "  The  door  was  on 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       451 

the  jar,  an'  I  'lowed  I  'd  push  it  open,  an'  mebbe  would  see 
one  o'  the  wimmen-folks  o'  the  fambly."  She  said  tliis  with 
a  manner  which  implied  that  she  did  not  preferably  confer 
with  the  men-folks.  She  assumed  a  matronly  air  as  she 
proceeded  :  "  I  be  a-sarchin'  fur  my  leetle  boy  ez  strayed  off 
from  home.  Mebbe  some  o'  the  wimmen-folks  hev  seen 
him  —  ef  they  air  up  an'  doin'."  Thus  she  conveyed  a  re 
proof  upon  his  seeming  sloth  and  late  hours.  Once  more 
her  bead-like  eyes  quickly  took  an  inventory  of  the  belong 
ings.  "  Whar  be  the  wimmen-folks  ?  A-washin'  of  clothes 
at  the  spring  —  of  a  Wednesday  ?  ' 

Perhaps  it  was  a  pity,  for  the  sake  of  discipline  in  the 
abstract  and  the  promulgation  of  correct  housekeeping  prin 
ciples,  that  these  were  merely  mythical  women  to  whose 
methods  Mrs.  Bowles  thus  definitely  made  known  her  objec 
tions.  A  somewhat  lively  life  she  might  have  led  them  on 
the  Great  Smoky,  despite  the  wide,  unpopulous  stretches  of 
wilderness.  She  turned  her  head  as  she  stood  on  the  van 
tage-ground  of  the  doorstep  which  commanded  the  descent 
to  the  left  of  the  cabin,  where  the  path  in  sinuous  vagaries 
led  down  among  the  bowlders  to  the  spring.  The  growth 
about  it  was  leafless  now,  and  she  could  see  the  steely  gleam 
of  the  water  under  the  dull  gray  sky.  It  did  not  seem  to 
move  ;  its  margin  was  solitary ;  no  whisking,  spiral  twirls 
of  smoke  climbed  that  unwilling  gray  sky ;  no  flash  of  red 
and  yellow  flames  made  cheerful  the  dull,  dun  wintry  day, 
merrily  wreathing  about  the  great  wash-kettle,  and  singing 
a  roundelay  with  the  bubble  of  the  boiling  water,  and  the 
sharp  crackling  of  the  briery  fuel,  and  the  strokes  of  the 
paddles  beating  the  clothes  white  as  behooved  them  ;  no 
agents  of  all  this  domestic  industry  were  visible,  with  skirts 
pinned  back  and  sleeves  rolled  up.  Some  such  picture  Mrs. 
Bowles's  expectation  had  projected  upon  the  gray  back 
ground  of  wood  and  mountain ;  she  turned  with  a  bewil 
dered  stare  from  the  blank  nullity  of  the  prospect.  Her 
flexible  lips  were  more  firmly  compressed,  the  bead-like 


452       THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE. 

gleam  of  her  eyes  more  definitely  antagonistic,  as  she  looked 
again  at  the  recumbent  figure.  The  tears  had  sprung  to 
Rathburn's  eyes,  —  he  was  so  weak,  so  full  of  pain,  the 
deliverance  she  had  brought  near  so  sorely  needed,  so  be 
yond  all  license  of  hope  !  He  could  hardly  speak  in  answer 
to  her  query,  and  when  he  did  a  sob  was  in  his  throat. 

"  Don't  you  see  what 's  the  matter  ?  "  Once  more  her 
unfriendly  eyes  dilated. 

"  Laziness,"  she  declared  unequivocally.  "  Though  I 
reckon  ye  'd  'low  ye  air  ailin'  somehows."  She  turned  to 
go.  "  Waal,  I  hev  got  no  time  ter  waste.  I  '11  jes'  leave  " 
—  She  was  about  to  leave  her  respects  for  the  "  wimmen- 
folks,"  then  concluded  to  deprive  of  the  honor  any  house 
keepers  who  maintained  a  hearth  like  that. 

A  low  cry  escaped  Rathburn's  lips  ;  he  held  out  his  hand. 
"  Don't  you  see  I  am  dying  —  I  am  dying  ?  "  he  exclaimed. 
"  I  have  been  murdered !  I  have  been  shot  and  left  for 
dead!  "  Mrs.  Bowles  stared  speechless  at  him.  "  Do  you 
live  near  here  ?  Can  you  get  me  away  from  this  accursed 
place  ?  "  he  continued,  —  "  anywhere  —  anywhere  to  die 
but  on  this  floor  !  " 

"I  live  a  good  piece  off,"  she  replied.  "  Yander  at  the 
Notch.  I  be  Mis'  Bowles."  Then  with  a  sudden  recollec 
tion  of  his  ecstatic  cry  "  Marcella  !  "  she  added,  "  Ef  ye  air 
'quainted  in  the  Cove,  ye  mus'  hev  hearn  tell  'bout  me.  I 
war  M'ria  White."  The  name  woke  no  responsive  recog 
nition  in  his  face ;  he  seemed  agitated,  exhausted,  almost 
spent.  "  I  be  kin  ter  Marcelly  Strobe  —  ye  hev  hearn  her 
talk  'bout'n  me  ?  " 

His  tact  was  not  prolonged  beyond  his  other  waning  fac 
ulties.  He  forlornly  shook  his  head,  and  Mrs.  Bowles's  face 
suddenly  hardened.  He  had  had  something  better,  per 
chance,  to  talk  of  with  Marcella  Strobe  ;  and  he  evidently 
had  never  even  heard  her  name.  They  had  already  forgot 
ten  her  in  those  precincts  of  the  Cove,  —  forgotten  her  as  if 
she  had  been  carried  away  to  her  lifeless  grave  in  the  little 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.   453 

burying-ground  instead  of  her  living  grave  up  on  the  moun 
tain.  A  cynical  sob  rose  into  the  throat  of  the  exile.  A 
forlorn  yearning  she  experienced,  very  poignant,  for  all  it 
was  so  pitiful  a  paradise  from  whose  meagre  joys  she  was 
excluded. 

"  I  reckon  yer  folks  will  be  back  presently.  I  urns'  be 
%a-goin',"  she  said  stiffly. 

"  I  have  no  folks  !  "  he  exclaimed,  his-  eyes  once  more 
wide  with  the  terror  of  being  deserted.  "  I  have  been  shot 
—  Baintree,  Jake  Baintree.  shot  me,  and  has  gone.  Nobody 
lives  here.  —  nobody  !  He  left  me  here  to  die." 

He  could  not  account  for  the  terror  in  Mrs.  Bowles's  face. 
She  turned  very  pale  ;  she  had  backed  toward  the  door.  "  I 
'lowed  ye  talked  sorter  funny,  —  sorter  like  they  say  the 
valley  folks  do.  I  mought  hev  knowed  ye  war  n't  from  this 
kentry.  I  'm  sorry  fur  ye,  but  I  be  'feard  o'  the  moonshin 
ers  myself,  an*  "  — 

"  I  'm  not  a  revenue  officer  !  "  Rathburn  almost  screamed, 
divining  her  thoughts,  so  well  had  he  come  to  know  the 
country  people  and  their  state  of  mind  toward  the  officials 
of  the  Revenue  Department.  "  I  'm  just  a  plain  fool." 

She  hesitated.  Somewhere  in  her  limited  spiritual  capa 
city  there  was  conscience  enough  to  rebel  against  passing 
by  on  the  other  side.  She  looked  at  him  more  wistfully 
than  might  have  seemed  possible  to  those  bright,  soulless 
eyes. 

"  We  have  been  trying  to  find  silver,"  he  gasped.  "  Bain 
tree  killed  Samuel  Keale  in  this  same  business,  and  now  he 
has  tried  to  kill  me."  The  significant  name,  the  mysterious 
tragedy,  the  bootless  search  for  the  precious  metal,  were  all 
long  familiar  to  her,  and  coerced  belief  in  any  subsequent 
development  that  might  be  predicated  upon  them.  He 
noted  the  change  in  her  face.  "  I  wonder  you  have  heard 
nothing  about  my  being  here  ;  everybody  in  the  Cove  knows 
it  now." 

Mrs.  Bowles  winced  to  be  found  ignorant  of  what  every- 


454   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

body  knew.  Nevertheless  she  was  equal  to  the  occasion. 
"  I  be  sech  a  stay-at-home,"  she  said,  her  red  lips  parting 
over  her  fine  teeth  in  a  pleasant  smile.  "  The  inos'  o'  the 
news  I  know  is  what  my  chil'n  air  a-doin'  of,  an'  how  the 
pig-pen  an'  the  poultry  air  a-thrivin'." 

She  is  not  the  first  woman  of  frustrated  worldly  ambitions 
who  makes  a  boast  of  simple  domesticity.  But  it  was  a 
sentiment  eminently  beguiling  to  the  masculine  mind. 

She  saw  approval  in  his  eyes  ;  she  saw,  too,  how  hand 
some  they  were,  albeit  so  hollow,  —  how  intelligent.  She 
relished  an  admiration  calculated  to  be  so  discriminating. 
There  was,  however,  nothing  of  the  married  coquette  in 
Mrs.  Bowles,  and  her  manner  was  all  that  a  discreet  ma 
tron's  might  be.  The  utterly  dead  and  cold  aspect  of  the 
fireplace  struck  her  anew  as  she  came  forward  into  the 
room.  She  was  not  a  logical  reasoner,  but  the  dislocation 
of  the  domestic  situation  was  sufficiently  marked  to  smite 
even  her  ill-developed  appreciation  of  cause  and  effect. 
"  Who  gin  ye  yer  breakfus'  ?  "  she  demanded,  pausing  to 
look  down  from  under  the  roseate  brim  of  her  pink  sun- 
bonnet. 

He  pointed  at  the  broken  fragments  on  the  floor,  beside 
the  overturned  table.  "  The  rats,"  he  said  scornfully,  but 
with  tears  in  his  eyes.  "  They  have  had  a  high  old  time 
dragging  these  scraps  about  the  floor,  and  they  were  good 
enough  to  leave  some  in  my  reach." 

Mrs.  Bowles's  shallow,  round,  shiny  eyes  looked  from  him 
to  the  bits  he  indicated,  as  if  with  difficulty  she  grasped  the 
idea  that  a  day  could  be  begun,  the  light  dawn,  the  sun  go 
through  the  ceremony  of  rising,  without  the  equally  natural 
and  essential  phenomena  of  the  getting  of  breakfast  and  the 
subsequent  washing  of  dishes.  "  Waal,  sir  !  "  she  exclaimed 
beneath  her  breath,  coping  at  last  with  this  revulsion  of  na 
ture.  "  I  '11  make  some  coffee  fust  thing,"  she  added  aloud. 
"  Leastwise,"  she  continued,  her  eyes  dwelling  with  disfavor 
on  the  array  of  cooking  utensils,  "  ef  thar  's  enny  sech  thing 
ez  gittin'  some  o'  the  grime  off'n  that  thar  coffee-pot." 


THE   DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       455 

A  starving  man  lay  on  the  floor,  but  the  coffee-pot  in  ques 
tion  was  scoured  outside  with  ashes,  as  well  as  inside,  before 
the  coffee  was  ground  and  set  to  boil ;  even  the  coffee-mill 
came  in  for  energetic  discipline  of  this  sort,  Mrs.  Bowles 
merely  replying  to  Rathburn's  insistence  that  he  did  not 
care,  and  that  she  need  not  be  so  particular,  by  the  tart  in 
quiry,  '*  Don't  ye  know  dirt  is  pizen  ?  "  which  choice  axiom 
of  toxicology  he  was  at  liberty  to  add  to  his  store  of  scien 
tific  lore  at  his  leisure.  The  reclaimed  coffee-pot  shone  very 
cheerful  as  it  sat,  somewhat  battered  as  to  shape,  upright 
on  a  trivet  over  the  live  coals ;  and  it  began  almost  straight 
way  to  gurgle  and  to  sing,  and  to  give  out  a  most  refreshing 
fragrance.  The  fire  seemed  lean,  somehow,  after  all  its 
beds  of  ashes  had  been  removed,  for  Mrs.  Bowles  sharply 
announced  that  she  u  war  n't  used  to  no  such  slack-twisted 
ways  of  keepin'  a  h'a'thstone,"  and  wondered  that  he  was 
not  worse  off  than  he  was,  being  evidently  of  the  opinion 
that  the  surplus  of  ashes  was  as  pernicious  to  the  health  as 
Jake  Bain  tree's  bullet.  The  spare  brightness  of  the  flames 
illumined  all  the  room ;  the  radiance  cheered  him ;  the 
warmth  was  a  luxury ;  and  as  he  drank  the  coffee  she 
brought  him  in  a  cup,  also  chastened  with  severe  applica 
tions  of  soap  and  water,  he  looked  at  her  with  great  grat 
itude,  and  declared  that  he  could  never  thank  her. 

"  Waal,  now,  don't  ye  do  it !  "  she  said,  flashing  her  bright 
dark  eyes  at  him,  and  showing  all  her  fine  teeth.  She  sat  in 
one  of  the  rickety  chairs  beside  the  hearth,  resting  from  her 
culinary  exertions  ;  the  tint  of  her  crisp  pink  dress  here  and 
there  deepened  and  paled  as  the  glow  of  the  fire  rose  and 
fell ;  her  face,  still  shaded  by  the  pink  sun-bonnet,  was  a 
trifle  flushed,  and  its  plump  curves  were  illumined  by  the 
glancing  light.  A  placid  content  rested  upon  her  features. 
A  cultured  criticism  could  never  have  deemed  her  beautiful, 
but  she  seemed  a  well-favored  creature,  pleasing  to  look 
upon,  and  of  the  kindliest  expression.  She  had  not  at  first 
impressed  Rathburn  thus,  and  he  wondered  at  it  as  he  lay 


456        THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE. 

comforted  and  tended,  and  enjoying  the  fire,  and  the 
cleanly  aspect  of  things,  and  the  good  coffee,  and  the  cheer 
ful  sight  of  her.  In  truth  a  change  had  been  wrought  in 
Mrs.  Bowles's  outlook  at  life  within  the  last  hour.  It  is  a 
truism  that  all  is  for  the  best,  but  we  accept  it  in  exactly 
the  proportion  in  which  the  dispensation  adjusts  itself  to  the 
requirements  of  our  scheme  of  things.  Mrs.  Bowles  found 
it  easier  to  recognize  the  utility  in  Rathburn's  misfortunes 
than  the  sufferer  himself  might  have  readily  been  brought 
to  do.  The  fact  that  her  benign  ministrations  to  the  wounded 
man,  at  the  brink  of  starvation,  would  be  noised  abroad 
throughout  Broomsedge  Cove,  the  excitement  and  sensation 
that  so  unusual  an  incident  as  her  discovery  of  Baintree's 
victim  in  the  nick  of  time  would  necessarily  rouse,  must 
serve  to  mitigate  any  harsh  criticism  of  her  conduct  to  the 
fugitive  Bob,  if  not  altogether  to  nullify  it.  Po.eslbly  her 
absence  from  home  in  the  guise  of  good  Samaritan  would 
suffice  to  explain  any  commotion  in  the  deserted  domestic 
sphere,  even  Bob's  flight  itself.  No  one  need  know  which 
had  first  left  the  roof.  Her  eyes, 'full  of  forecast,  were 
on  the  floor.  Her  lips  were  adjusted  primly  as  the  words 
were  dumbly  fashioned  upon  them.  "  I  reckon  Bob  mus' 
hev  strayed  off  through  sarchin'  fur  me,"  —  she  fancied  her 
self  thus  accounting  for  the  incident.  What  more  natural 
to  say  and  to  credit  ?  Rathburn's  self-esteem  had  been 
grievously  cut  down  of  late,  but  even  in  its  reduced  estate 
he  could  never  have  dreamed  that  the  chief  significance  of 
Baintree's  crime  and  his  own  deep  wounds  could  be  to  any 
one  merely  the  means  of  innocuously  accounting  for  the 
small  Bob  Bowles's  flight  from  his  home.  He  had  not  yet 
finished  his  coffee.  He  was  too  feeble  to  take  more  than 
a  few  swallows  at  long  intervals.  Mrs.  Bowles  fixed  her 
eyes  upon  him  from  time  to  time,  evidently  expecting  that 
he  would  hand  back  the  cup,  and  waiting  to  wash  it.  In 
the  mean  while  she  renewed  her  canvass  of  the  place.  **  I 
'low  ez  Jake  Baintree  mought  hev  been  sati'fied  'thout  turn- 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE    COVE.       457 

in'  the  furniture  topsy-turvy,"  she  commented  upon  the  over 
turned  table.  She  rose  as  she  spoke  and  righted  the  article 
in  question,  gathering  up  the  fragments  of  bread  and  the 
broken  crockery,  and  going  to  the  door  to  throw  them  out. 
"  I  M  like  ter  sweep  this  hyar  floor.  I  reckon  the  dust 
would  n't  choke  ye  much."  She  spoke  in  a  tone  that  cu 
riously  partook  of  a  demand  as  of  a  right,  and  yet  of  a  re 
quest  as  for  a  favor.  She  gazed  searehingly  into  the  cor 
ners.  "  Laws-a-massy  !  "  she  cried,  her  voice  striking  the 
high  key  of  mingled  surprise  and  ridicule.  "'  I  don't  believe 
the  man  hev  so  much  ez  got  a  broom  !  " 

Albeit  this  praiseworthy  intention  was  thus  frustrated,  she 
still  dwelt  upon  the  incidents  of  the  floor.  "  Air  that  Bain- 
tree's  shootin'-iron  ?  "  she  asked,  with  knitted  brows,  as  she 
noted  the  revolver. 

"  No,  mine,"  said  Rathburn. 

"  Did  you-uns  shoot  back  ?  "  demanded  Mrs.  Bowles  judi 
cially,  evidently  not  to  be  prejudiced  against  the  absent  Bain- 
tree. 

"  I  ?  "  exclaimed  Rathburn.     "  I  was  asleep." 

Mrs.  Bowles  turned  suddenly  pale.  "  Ye  war  n't  a-fight- 
in'  ?  "  she  asked,  amazed. 

"  I  tell  you  I  was  asleep,"  said  Rathburn  angrily,  the 
blood  rising  to  his  face.  "  We  had  had  a  quarrel  " 

"  What  about  ?  "  interrupted  Mrs.  Bowles,  eagerly  relish 
ing  gossip  so  highly  flavored,  so  fraught  with  danger,  as  this. 

Rathburn  was  nothing  loath.  His  attack  upon  Baintree 
seemed  so  small  a  matter  in  comparison  with  the  dastardly 
crime  which  his  enemy  had  committed  that  he  had  lost  all 
the  sense  of  humiliation,  of  repentance,  that  had  so  oppressed 
him.  "  Why,  I  made  him  tell  me  where  that  man  Samuel 
Keale  lost  his  life.  That 's  where  I  believe  silver  is  to  be 
found." 

Mrs.  Bowles  glanced  over  her  shoulder  with  a  gleam  of 
scornful  laughter.  All  unmindful,  Rathburn  went  on  :  — 

"  I  choked  him  till  he  told  me.  He  would  n't  tell  me  till 
I  had  half  choked  the  life  out  of  him." 


458        THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOM  SEDC.K   COVE. 

"  They  say  they  can't  try  him  no  mo'  fur  that  nohow," 
she  said.  "  I  dunno  what  ails  him  ter  be  so  tongue-tied 
'bout'n  it  now.  Whar  war  the  place  ?  "  she  queried,  in 
sheer  curiosity.  She  evidently  attached  little  importance  to 
his  answer.  She  cared  naught  for  justice  in  the  abstract, 
and  she  had  no  special  enmity  toward  Baintree.  She  leaned 
forward  after  she  had  spoken,  and  mended  the  fire,  which 
was  beginning  to  show  a  tendency  to  smoke. 

"  That 's  the  queerest  turn  of  all,"  said  Rathburn.  A 
gleam  of  excitement  shone  in  his  eyes.  "  He  tracked  this 
man  Keale  to  a  cave  ;  he  never  saw  him  again.  There 
were  the  prints  of  feet  about  the  place,  and  the  cave  was 
on  Teck  Jepson's  land." 

The  half-burned  fagot  fell  from  Mrs.  Bowles's  hand  with 
a  sharp  crash  upon  the  hearth ;  the  smoke  curled  out  into 
the  room  unheeded.  Still  bending  over  the  fire,  she  turned 
her  head  and  fixed  upon  him  excited  eyes,  in  which  suspi 
cion  smouldered.  "  Teck  Jepson  !  "  she  cried.  "  His  bones 
hid  in  a  cave  on  Jepson's  land  I  No  wonder  the  jury  floun 
dered  an'  the  law  failed  !  Jepson  !  ah — h  !  "  Her  eyes  nar 
rowed  and  her  lip  curled.  "  I  '11  be  bound  Teck  Jepson  hed 
a  hand  in  Keale's  takin'-off  ;  ennybody  mought  hev  suspi- 
cioned  it  — ah — h  !  " 

"  I  never  said  that,"  stipulated  Rathburn  warily,  animated 
by  that  reluctance  felt  by  all  civilized  men  to  unnecessarily 
assume  responsibility.  u  I  only  know  that  I  forced  Baintree 
to  tell  where  the  place  was,  —  fairly  choked  the  words  out 
of  him  ;  and  because  I  declared  that  I  would  search  that 
cave  of  Jepson's  he  shot  me  while  I  was  asleep,  and  left  me 
for  dead  —  with  my  own  revolver.  Why,  this  old  thing," 
he  said,  clasping  its  handle,  "  I  could  n't  tell  when  it  has 
been  discharged.  He  had  to  clean  it  —  rusty  old  "  — 

"  Put  it  down,  —  put  it  down  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Bowles,  with 
an  unwonted  show  of  timidity,  and  shrinking  back  against 
the  jamb  of  the  chimney.  "  I  can't  abide  them  bob-tailed 
shoo  tin '-irons,  —  I  can't  place  no  dependence  in  'em  like 


TI1K  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       459 

rifles  ;  they  look  ter  me  ez  ef  they  'd  ez  soon  go  off  ez  not, 
an'  a  leetle  ruther." 

Rathburn  had  ceased  to  meddle  with  the  "  bob-tailed 
shootin'-iron,"  and  went  on :  "  He  not  only  shot  me  twice, 
so  determined  was  he  to  have  me  silenced  and  dead  and  out 
of  the  way,  but  long  afterward  —  the  next  day,  or  the  next 
—  he  came  there  to  that  slit  in  the  window,  to  look  in  and 
make  sure  that  he  had  done  his  work  thoroughly." 

Mrs.  Bowles  turned  half-way  round  in  her  chair,  and 
fixed  her  dilated,  startled  eyes  upon  the  crevice,  as  if  she 
expected  to  see  the  long,  keen,  narrow  face,  with  its  furtive, 
crafty  glance,  peering  through.  "  I  lay  as  stiff  and  as  rigid 
as  a  corpse  could,"  Rathburn  went  on.  "  I  '11  bet  you  there 
was  a  glaze  on  my  eyes,  half  shut  I  held  'em  —  What 's 
the  matter  ?  Where  are  you  going  ?  "  he  broke  off  suddenly. 

For  Mrs.  Bowles  had  risen  so  precipitately,  with  so  wild 
an  aspect,  that  despite  the  stiff  neatness  of  her  starched 
pink  skirts  and  sun-bonnet  she  seemed  suddenly  disheveled. 
Her  face  was  blanched,  her  eyes  moved  restlessly  about. 
u  Oh,  my  Lord  !"  she  exclaimed,  "I  mus'  be  a-goin'  —  I 
mus'  be  a-gittin'  away  from  hyar  —  I  —  I  —  I  'm  'feard  o' 
Jake  Baintree." 

*•  One  minute,  —  wait  one  minute  !  "  cried  Rathburn,  lift 
ing  himself  upon  his  elbow,  dismayed  by  the  result  of  his 
graphic  description  of  Baintree's  visit.  '•  He  only  came 
once.  —  that  is,  so  far  as  I  know  ;  he  is  n't  likely  to  come 
again  ;  he  has  probably  left  the  country." 

"  Shucks  !  "  Mrs.  Bowles  summarily  and  contemptuously 
disposed  of  his  logic,  her  suave  graces  and  benign  minis 
tering  disposition  dispersing  in  thin  air  before  the  approach 
of  personal  danger.  "  Ef  what  he  hev  told  'bout  that  thar 
cave  on  Teck  Jepson's  land  be  wuth  killin'  you-uns  'bout,  it 
air  wuth  killin'  me  too,  an'  his  comin'  back  shows  he  air 
powerful  partic'lar  'bout'n  his  job.  Leastwise  I  ain't  goiii' 
ter  resk  his  comin'  back  agin  an'  murderin'  me  hyar."  As 
her  roving  eye  fell  upon  him,  seeing  his  pain,  his  terrible 


460   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

straits,  all  expressed  in  his  face,  she  recoiled  a  trifle  before 
their  dumb,  unconscious,  pallid  reproach.  "  I  have  got  a 
fainbly  dependin'  on  me,"  she  said  justifying  her  care  for 
personal  safety.  She  spoke  with  flabby  white  lips,  and  her 
eyes  still  maintained  their  hasty,  restless  movements. 

"  Oh,  you  're  all  right,"  Rathburn  made  haste  to  stipu 
late  ;  the  touch  of  satire  in  his  voice  was  so  light  as  to  be 
almost  unappreciable.  "  Altogether  a  matter  of  choice. 
Each  for  one's  self,  and  devil  take  the  hindmost." 

"  I  '11  put  this  bread  an'  water  whar  ye  kin  git  it,  an'  pile 
up  some  wood  hyar  so  ez  ye  kin  make  a  fire." 

''  When  I  am  able,"  he  seemed  to  assent. 

"  An'  "  — she  turned  upon  him  her  disingenuous  eyes  — 
"  I  '11  tell  the  folks  in  the  Cove  whar  ye  be,  an'  send  some 
of  'em  after  ye." 

He  could  not  have  explained  how  he  knew  it  so  definitely, 
lie  pretended  to  no  gift  of  forecast,  but  he  was  sure  that  her 
lips  would  be  sealed  so  far  as  the  tragedy  in  the  deserted 
mountain  hut  was  concerned ;  that  she  would  not  dare  to 
overtly  frustrate  Baintree's  vengeance,  since  he  was  at  large 
and  bent  upon  it,  or  to  aid  to  fix  his  crime  upon  him.  She 
would  send  no  help.  She  would  ostensibly  hope  that  he 
might  recover,  but  feel  that  it  was  the  solution  of  a  danger 
ous  perplexity  if  he  should  die,  realize  how  much  she  had 
done  for  his  comfort,  and  reflect  that  in  no  event  was  it  any 
affair  of  hers. 

"  If  it  would  take  no  more  time,  I  'd  thank  you  instead 
to  buckle  the  girth  of  the  saddle  about  that  gray  mare  of 
mine,  and  hitch  her  bridle  to  the  ring  at  the  door.  I  may 
take  a  little  ride  to-day.  Oh,  I  'm  a  great  deal  stronger 
than  you  think."  He  smiled  affably  to  meet  her  dismayed 
glance. 

She  stood  motionless,  doubting  and  deliberating.  He 
looked  like  death ;  but  he  was  a  physician,  —  he  had  told 
her  this,  —  and  he  was  a  better  judge  of  his  strength  than 
she.  She  could  not  retrieve  the  fact  that  she  had  been  here 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOM  SEDGE   COVE.       461 

and  become  cognizant  of  Baintree's  crime,  thereby  incurring 
danger  from  him,  and  this  Rathburn  might  detail  whenever 
liberated.  If  perchance  he  should  ride  boldly  down  into 
the  Cove,  —  it  seemed  impossible,  —  the  story  of  her  deser 
tion  of  him  in  such  a  time  of  need  would  furnish  a  terrible 
supplement  as  well  as  convincing  proof  of  any  deductions 
of  cruelty  to  the  fugitive  Bob.  Without  this  incident,  in 
deed,  Bob's  flight  could  hardly  be  innocuously  passed  over. 

He  could  not  understand  the  change  in  her  face  ;  it  bright 
ened  with  sudden  resolution. 

"  Why,  to  be  sure  I  kin,"  she  said  cordially.  "  An'  mebbe 
ye  kin  kern  right  along  down  the  mounting  arter  me  inter 
the  Cove.  I  'd  wait  fur  ye,  'ceptin'  I  be  'bleeged  ter  look 
arter  that  leetle  boy  o'  mine ;  it  pesters  me  mightily  ter  hev 
ter  leave  ye,  an  ef  't  war  n't  ez  I  be  bound  ter  go  down  inter 
the  Cove  I  'd  ax  ye  ter  kem  an'  bide  at  my  house." 

It  assuaged  her  discontent  in  some  sort  to  be  able  to  go 
through  this  form  of  hospitality,  meaningless  as  it  was,  for 
nothing  could  have  induced  her  to  harbor  a  man  with  a 
dangerous  secret  like  this,  and  whose  death  Jake  Baintree, 
already  red-handed,  sought. 

"Thank  you  very  much,"  Rathburn  said  civilly,  but  glad 
to  show  his  independence.  "  I  reckon  I  had  better  go  to 
the  Cove,  to  some  friends  I  have  there,  —  the  Strobe  family. 
I  know  they  will  take  me  in." 

She  once  more  remembered  his  ecstatic  cry  of  "  Mar- 
cella!"  when  she  first  stood  in  the  door.  She  grudged  a 
guest  of  this  quality  to  the  Strobes,  albeit  she  had  no  wish 
to  open  her  own  house.  She  supposed  it  possible  that  they 
had  made  his  acquaintance  through  Eli's  machinations  with 
the  strings  of  government.  She  had  always  believed  that 
there  was  much  social  advantage  in  politics.  Being  so  de 
barred,  she  wTas  keener  of  perception  in  this  regard,  and 
quicker  to  appraise  such  opportunities  than  most  of  the 
mountaineers. 

She  carried  these  thoughts  with  her  while  she  buckled 


462   TEE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMS  EDGE  COVE. 

the  saddle-girth  about  the  mare,  glancing  fearfully  ever  and 
anon  over  her  shoulder  at  the  gray  solitudes  glooming  round. 
If  he  were  strong  enough  to  reach  the  Cove,  he  would  com 
pass  this  without  her  aid,  and  would  have  much  of  her  dere 
liction  to  report.  If  he  were  not  strong  enough,  he  would 
die  by  the  way,  and  thus  would  tell  no  secrets,  either  of  the 
crime  that  Jake  Baintree  had  committed,  or  of  the  knowl 
edge  of  it  that  she  reluctantly  possessed.  The  mare  was  a 
tall  beast,  frisky  and  fat,  and  unused  to  being  handled  by 
women.  She  lowered  her  head  and  flung  up  her  heels  as 
the  pink  skirts  swayed  about  her  hoofs,  but  bridled  and  sad 
dled  she  was  at  last,  and  the  hitching  rein  was  slipped  through 
the  ring  on  the  door. 

Mrs.  Bowles  was  a  little  hasty  in  her  leave-taking.  "  I  '11 
tell  the  Strobes  they  mought  ez  well  look  out  ter  see  ye,  eh  ?  " 
she  called  through  the  half-open  door. 

"  If  you  will  oblige  me,"  he  responded  in  turn. 

There  was  naught  of  offense  in  the  tone  and  the  words, 
but  her  face  was  lowering  beneath  her  jaunty  pink-head-gear 
as  she  once  more  slipped  her  foot  in  the  stirrup,  glad  enough 
to  feel  it  there  again,  and  mounted  into  her  worn  old  side 
saddle.  "  Perliteness  is  on  his  lips,  but  not  in  his  heart,"  she 
said  bitterly,  for  there  are  none  who  so  resent  insincerity  as 
the  insincere. 

As  she  jogged  off  down  the  bridle-path,  she  noted  the 
threatening  aspect  of  the  day.  All  above  the  circling  sombre 
purple  mountains,  on  every  side,  darkening  clouds  hung  in 
sinister  abeyance.  Below  in  the  Cove,  the  stretches  of  the 
broomsedge  flared,  in  its  tawny  ruddy  tint  the  only  suggestion 
of  sunshine  in  the  landscape  ;  where  the  forests  intervened, 
the  thickly  massed  myriads  of  bare  boughs,  even  the  heavily 
draped  branches  of  the  pines,  were  null  as  to  color,  and 
lurked  darkling  in  the  valleys,  intensifying  the  great  gloom 
of  the  scene.  Only  far  away  could  she  see  lighter  tints, 
albeit  of  a  gray  diffusiveness,  and  this  was  along  the  sum 
mit  of  a  distant  range,  where  the  nebulosity  of  the  cloud 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOUSEDGE  COVE.   463 

had  been  resolved  into  vague  slanting  lines  intimating  rain 
fall.  The  weather  could  hardly  be  more  unpropitious  for 
her  journey  to  the  Cove,  but  with  the  recent  events  in  the 
forlorn  little  shanty  in  mind,  with  the  terror  of  the  possible 
propinquity  of  the  murderous  Baintree  lurking  in  the  wintry 
woods  somewhere,  she  did  not  hesitate,  she  had  no  wish  to 
linger.  Only  once  she  looked  back :  when  she  had  pro 
gressed  so  far  down  the  descent,  at  a  thumping,  lunging 
walk,  —  for  her  horse  had  a  gait  unique  in  its  way,  espe 
cially  adapted  to  these  precipitous  descents  and  slippery 
verges  of  the  Great  Smoky,  —  that  another  turn  amongst 
the  leafless  wands  of  the  undergrowth  would  conceal  the 
house  from  view,  she  halted  for  a  moment,  and  glanced  over 
her  shoulder.  The  ragged,  bare  slope  of  the  mountain 
stretched  high  above  ;  amongst  the  leafless  boughs  of  the 
gnarled  old  trees,  imposed  in  definite  lines  against  the  slate- 
tinted  sky,  she  saw  the  wreathing  blue  smoke  of  the  fire  she 
had  made,  and  beneath  the  branches  at  the  end  of  the  vista, 
the  little  hut,  the  oblique  line  of  the  gray  roof  cut  sharply 
against  the  sombre  purple  masses  of  a  neighboring  mountain 
visible  across  the  valley.  The  door  was  shut,  and  there 
rode  down  the  path,  mounted  upon  the  gray  mare,  an 
emaciated  figure,  with  a  face  all  pallid  and  ghostly  in  the 
dim  light  of  the  day  ;  and  Mrs.  Bowles,  although  unimag 
inative,  received  a  terrible  suggestion  of  the  Biblical  Death 
upon  the  pale  horse,  as  the  rider  came  swaying  in  the  saddle 
between  the  slate-colored  clouds  and  the  purple-black  moun 
tains  in  those  forlorn  altitudes,  where  solitude  possessed  the 
wilderness  and  the  storm  impended. 

"  He  can't  keep  the  saddle  fur  haffen  the  way,"  she  said 
to  herself. 

Then  she  turned,  and  urged  her  horse  down  and  down  the 
descent,  losing  as  she  went,  being  considerably  in  advance, 
the  sound  of  the  hoofs  that  followed. 


XXVI. 

THE  gilded  squares  of  light  that  the  windows  of  EH 
Strobe's  cabin  showed  in  the  outer  darkness  were  hardly 
obstructed  by  the  growth  about  them,  so  leafless  had  it  all 
become.  To  be  sure,  here  was  the  outline  of  a  rosebud, 
sketched  in  a  clear  bronze  in  many-branched  grace  upon  the 
yellow  space,  and  at  the  other  window  a  series  of  straight 
wands  rose  up  above  the  sill,  and  betokened  the  withered 
estate  of  the  "  sweet  Betty  "  bushes.  Nevertheless,  from 
afar  off  Mrs.  Bowles  could  see  the  squares  illuminated  on 
the  purplish  blackness  of  the  night,  and  they  served  beacon- 
wise  to  guide  her  along  the  dark  reaches  of  the  road,  still 
reeking  with  the  heavy  rainfall,  not  long  overpast,  and  inti 
mated  very  definitely  where  she  must  turn  aside  to  take  the 
marshy  turn-row  in  lieu  of  the  red  clay  highway.  She 
shrank  from  the  open  doors  of  the  forge,  seeing  in  the  red 
flare  from  within  the  figures  of  the  blacksmith's  cronies  and 
hearing  their  loud  hilarious  voices,  for  the  consciousness  that 
Rathburn  followed  hard  upon  her  steps  induced  an  unwonted 
caution.  If  he  had  quarreled  with  Baintree,  it  was  possible 
that  he  had  other  enemies  as  well ;  and  remembering  how 
wild  of  aim  are  the  bullets  in  a  free  fight,  and  that  a  stray 
shot  might  be  endowed  with  pernicious  possibilities,  she  for 
bore,  as  far  as  she  might,  attracting  the  attention  of  those 
within.  She  passed  as  silently  as  a  shadow  in  the  multitudi 
nous  shadows  of  the  night,  the  hoof-beats  of  her  horse  hardly 
audible  in  the  deep  mire  on  one  side  of  the  road.  She 
was  sure  that  a  horseman  whom  she  suddenly  encountered, 
galloping,  was  altogether  unaware  of  her  proximity,  as  he 
shot  by  in  the  gloom.  He  had  come  from  the  turn-row  that 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       465 

led  through  the  fields  to  Eli  Strobe's  house,  and  she  won 
dered  a  little  wistfully  at  this.  "  Some  o'  thar  everlastin' 
visitors,  through  cousin  Eli  hem'  sech  a  busybody  in  poli 
tics,"  she  thought,  remembering  the  social  advantages  of 
candidacy. 

But  they  were  not  the  cheerful  faces  which  behoove  an 
open  house  that  came  trooping  out  to  the  door  when  her  in 
congruous  feminine  "  Halloo  !  "  weakly  quavering  from  its 
soprano  shrillness  to  an  abashed  silence,  roused  all  the  sur 
prised  inmates. 

'•  Laws-a-massy,  M'ria  Bowles  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Strobe, 
with  her  hand  over  her  eyes,  peering  intently  into  the  long 
shafts  of  light  fluctuating  out  into  the  darkness  from  the 
lantern  that  Eli  Strobe  carried  in  his  hand.  "  Mighty  glad 
ter  see  ye,  M'ria,  enny  time  ye  kem,  though  ye  mighty  nigh 
skeered  me  out'n  seven  years'  growth,  an'  I  never  hed  much 
growth  ter  be  skeered  out'n,"  remarked  the  little  dame  at 
long  range,  as  Mrs.  Bowles  dismounted  upon  the  horse-block 
and  started  up  the  path  to  the  house,  leaving  the  hitching- 
rein  in  the  hands  of  her  host.  Even  in  the  dim  radiance  of 
the  shifting  lantern  and  the  gleam  from  the  open  door,  her 
pink  skirts  rustled  with  much  of  their  pristine  stiffness,  de 
spite  the  dank  atmosphere,  the  legacy  of  the  storm. 

"  Ef  she  war  dead,  she  'd  'pear  at  the  gates  o'  heaven  all 
fraish  from  the  ironin'-board,"  Mrs.  Strobe  commented  in  a 
low  tone  to  Marcella.  "  Her  affection  fur  the  sad-iron  an' 
the  washboard  air  all  that  M'ria  Bowles  ever  showed  ter 
prove  she  hed  a  heart.  Some  wimmen,  though,  ain't  got  so 
much  ez  that." 

"  Did  ye  kem  down  hyar  ter  git  shet  o'  the  storm,  M'ria  ?  " 
she  called  aloud,  for  she  could  not  allay  her  curiosity  con 
cerning  so  untimely  a  visit.  "  I  see  ye  hain't  been  in  the 
rain." 

"Naw,  cousin  J'rushy,"  Mrs.  Bowles  replied,  with  an 
exceeding  gravity,  coming,  out  of  breath,  up  the  steps,  her 
plump  olive  cheeks,  her  bead-like  eyes,  her  flexible  lips,  all 


466       THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE. 

adjusted  to  an  appreciation  of  importance.  "  I  wav  n't  out 
in  the  storm,"  she  continued,  mingling  her  account  of  her 
self  with  her  greetings,  which  gave  them  a  cavalier  air, 
implying  a  preoccupied  mind,  which  Marcella  and  Isabel 
visibly  resented,  their  added  pride  of  bearing  perceptible 
even  in  their  silence.  "  I  rid  my  beastis  inter  a  sorter 
niche  in  the  rocks  whilst  the  rain  war  fallin',  kase  I  did  n't 
want  ter  git  wet  myself,  an'  I  hed  a  man  along  o'  me  ez  war 
powerful  ailin'  through  bein'  shot." 

Eli  Strobe  paused,  hearing  the  last  statement  as  he  came 
up  the  steps,  and  flashed  the  light  of  the  lantern  into  her 
face.  It  revealed  the  pompous  dignity  of  his  own.  He 
frowned  down  this  affront  to  the  law,  caring  far  less  for  the 
victim  than  for  its  majesty.  He  cast  his  lowering  side- 
glance  upon  her.  "  Who  done  it  ?  "  he  demanded  gruffly. 

"  Jake  Baintree,"  she  said. 

She  did  not  note  how  Eli  Strobe  winced.  He  had  sought 
to  lend  his  personal  strength  and  influence  to  the  feeble  law 
which  he  was  commissioned  to  administer,  had  upheld  the 
justice  of  the  verdict  that  had  liberated  Baintree,  and  had 
subsequently  given  him  countenance.  It  seemed  ill  enough 
deserved,  and  for  a  man  who  piqued  himself  upon  discrim 
ination  and  consistency  this  was  a  blow. 

"  Yes,  sir ;  shot  him  an'  lef  him  for  dead  in  the  old  Pin- 
nett  cabin.  An'  bein'  ez  I  passed  by,  I  fund  him  starved 
an'  "thout  no  fire,  an'  the  floor  lookin'  like  it  hed  never  been 
swep'."  Mrs.  Bowles  set  her  lips  primly.  "  So  I  jes'  holped 
him  on  his  mare  an'  fetched  him  down  the  mounting  with 
me."  The  sound  of  a  hoof  smote  her  ear,  and  she  turned 
suddenly.  "  Thar  he  be  now  at  the  gate." 

Rathburn,  his  every  faculty  jaded,  his  bones  sore  from 
the  jolting  of  the  journey,  his  wound  poignantly  aching,  as 
he  drew  rein  at  last,  had  only  an  indistinct  impression  of 
glowing  stationary  lights  a-bloom  in  the  utter  blackness, 
seeming  to  shed  presently,  as  a  petal,  a  fluctuating  golden 
flake,  dandering  down  the  currents  of  the  wind  blowing 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOM  SEDGE   COVE.       467 

toward  him.  His  dazed  senses  took  heed  of  it  at  last  as  Eli 
Strobe's  prosaic  lantern.  He  felt  the  mountaineer's  strong 
arms  encircle  him  as  he  lay,  bending  forward  on  the  mare's 
neck,  —  for  he  could  no  longer  sit  upright,  —  and  draw 
him  out  of  the  saddle,  and  carry  him  to  the  house  almost 
as  helpless  as  a  child.  He  smelled,  as  he  went,  the  dank 
mould  of  the  autumnal  borders,  where  all  the  flowers  had 
gone  to  seed.  He  heard  a  detached  pattering,  a  mere  ap- 
poggiatura  of  musical  drops  falling  from  one  of  the  stiff, 
sere,  brown  things,  not  recognizable  in  its  wizened,  wisp- 
like  guise.  The  skeleton  vines  flapped  about  the  porch ; 
he  saw  the  lights  through  them  as  they  swayed,  and  then 
his  consciousness  failed  for  a  time. 

When  he  knew  himself  again  he  was  stretched  upon  a 
lounge,  drawn  up  at  one  side  of  a  hearth  upon  which  even 
Mrs.  Bowles's  broom  could  find  no  field  of  action.  He 
tasted  the  strong  flavor  of  the  unadulterated  mountain 
whiskey  ;  it  brought  the  tears  to  his  eyes,  and  feeling  the 
glow  kindling  in  every  chilled  member,  he  was  moved  to 
marvel  how  much  of  the  potent  liquid  Mrs.  Strobe  had  as 
sumed  the  responsibility  of  administering.  For  they  were 
all  sitting  in  a  circle  about  the  hearth,  except  Marcella,  who 
knelt,  holding  one  hand  before  her  face  to  shield  her  flushed 
cheek  from  the  flames,  while  she  turned,  with  a  long  fork, 
the  broiling  venison  upon  the  coals,  from  which  an  appetiz 
ing  odor  rose.  She  did  not  look  up,  although  a  general  ex 
clamation  of  satisfaction  greeted  his  opening  eyes. 

"  I  thunk  the  reverend  stuff  would  fetch  ye,"  observed 
Mrs.  Strobe  triumphantly,  as  if  she  had  invented  the  rem 
edy.  ki  I  'm  goin'  ter  gin  ye  some  yerb-tea,"  she  added  be 
nignly. 

And  then  it  dawned  upon  Rathburn  that  he  had  fallen 
into  the  practice  of  this  ambitious  amateur. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  want  any  herb-tea,"  he  declared  with  deci 
sion. 

u  Jes'  like  Dr.  Boyce,  — pore  old  man,  ez  bald-headed  ez 


468        THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE. 

a  aig."  This  ridicule  seemed  irrelevant,  but  the  tone  was 
a  great  power  of  depreciation.  "  He  don't  want  no  yerb- 
tea,  nuther." 

Rathburn  had  lifted  himself  on  his  arm.  "  Does  he  — 
this  physician  —  live  near  here  ?  Could  we  send  him  word 
to-morrow  to  come  and  see  me  ?  " 

"  Listen  at  him  ! "  cried  Mrs.  Strobe,  with  an  ebullition 
of  laughter.  "  That  jes'  shows  how  much  ye  know,  —  how 
much  of  a  doctor-man  ye  be,  sure  enough.  Mighty  willin' 
ter  try  yer  ignorance  a-dosin'  other  folks,  an'  —  chuck-a- 
luck  !  —  git  well  or  die.  But  ef  ye  air  a-ailin'  yerse'f ,  nare 
doctor-man'  mongst  ye  air  willin'  ter  take  his  own  med'cine, 
—  rank  pizen,  —  what  he  administers  so  free  ter  other 
folks."  She  cocked  her  head  on  one  side  and  surveyed  him 
speciilatively.  "  I  s'pose  now,  ef  Dr.  Boyce  war  ailin',  he  'd 
want  some  other  doctor  ter  physic  him  ez  knowed  more  'n 
hisself.  That  man  oughter  be  powerful  easy  fund  !  I  '11 
bet  ye  a  cow  an'  calf  he  could  n't  be  got  ter  swaller  the  ill- 
smellin'  lotiums  he  gins  other  folks  'thout  ye  war  ter  hold 
his  nose  an'  tie  his  hands  ahint  his  back." 

At  this  graphic  account  of  the  fraternal  interdependence 
of  the  profession  Rathburn  could  but  smile. 

"Now,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Strobe  cheerily,  "ye  look  sorter 
like  yerse'f,  —  some  sorter  like  ye  did  that  las'  night  ye 
war  down  hyar.  I  reckon  ye  hev  hed  yer  fill  o'  sarchin'  fur 
silver  with  sech  ez  Jake  Baintree." 

"  I  have  indeed.". 

"  Ef  I  hed  n't  happened  ter  kem  along  he  'd  hev  been 
dead,"  said  Mrs.  Bowles  plaintively,  as  she  sat  and  sipped 
a  cup  of  coffee ;  for  the  regular  supper  being  some  time 
ago  concluded,  the  refreshments  were  served  to  the  travelers 
thus  informally  about  the  hearth. 

"  I  have  no  doubt  of  it.  I  have  a  great  deal  to  thank 
Mrs.  Bowles  for." 

Mrs.  Strobe's  little  cynical  squawk  interrupted  these 
amenities.  "  Laws-a-massy  !  Air  Mis'  Bowles  the  n'angel 


TIIK  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.       469 

ez  ye  said  delivered  ye  afore,  whenst  ye  got  inter  a  pickle 
with  the  mounting  folks  ?  A  n'angel !  I  would  never  hev 
tuk  ye  fur  sech,  M'ria !  I  'low  ye  weigh  more  'n  a  n'angel 
ginerally  do,  though  mebbe  ye  air  a  n'angel  ez  hev  been  fat 
tened  up  by  high  livin'." 

A  certain  smirking  bewilderment  was  on  Mrs.  Bowles's 
round  face.  She  was  at  first  not  disposed  to  repudiate  the 
compliment,  losing  sight,  in  her  confusion,  of  the  fact  that 
Rathburn  surely  knew  to  whom  he  had  paid  it.  Then  her 
cheek  mantled  with  a  glow  of  resentment  because  of  Mrs. 
Strobe's  allusion  to  her  avoirdupois,  which  was  no  more 
than  might  conveniently  grace  a  plump  angel ;  and  it  was 
Mrs.  Bowles's  firm  conviction  that  heaven  was  not  full  of 
slim  divinities,  —  "  scraggy,"  she  called  them,  —  like  Mar- 
cella  Strobe,  who  looked  as  if  she  might  break  in  two. 

"  I  'lowed,  too,"  said  Mrs.  Strobe,  settling  her  feet  on  the 
rung  of  her  chair,  where  she  perched  with  an  air  as  if  she 
would  flit  away  presently,  and  delighting  in  the  confusion 
wrought  by  her  sarcasm,  —  "I  'lowed,  Eugene  Rathburn, 
ez  ye  'dbe  too  perlite  ter  call  a  married  lady  a  n'angel,  even 
ef  she  did  warn  ye  from  the  lynchers  an'  save  ycr  life." 

Mrs.  Bowles  changed  color  quickly.  The  word  "  lynch 
ers  "  smote  terror  to  her  heart.  Not  for  any  consideration 
would  she  incur  the  suspicion  of  having  interfered  between 
the  wild,  lawless  mountain  vigilantes  and  their  intended  vic 
tim  ;  no  suave  delights  of  hyperbolical  praises  could  avail 
for  an  instant. 

"  'T  war  n't  me,  cousin  J'rushy.  Naw  'm  !  "  with  em 
phasis.  u  I  never  seen  that  thar  man  till  this  very  mornin', 
—  never  set  eyes  on  him.  I  war  glad  ter  holp  him  ter  kem 
away  from  whar  he  war  bound  ter  starve,  but  I  don't  want 
ter  be  called  no  n'angel."  she  added  primly. 

"  How  would  cherubim  do.  then,  or  seraphim  ?  "  demanded 
Mrs.  Strobe  seriously,  despite  the  whimsical  corrugations 
about  the  small  drawn  mouth.  The  quality  of  her  wit  was 
disconcerting,  and  as  Mrs.  Bowles  turned  her  reddening  face 


470   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

aside  her  eye  fell  on  Marcella.  The  girl  had  risen,  and  was 
standing  partly  in  the  shadow  of  the  mantel-piece  ;  the  breath 
of  the  fire  still  fanned  the  soft  masses  of  her  curling  hair 
tossed  backward  on  her  shoulders  ;  her  oval  face  was  deli 
cately  flushed  ;  her  eyes,  from  under  their  long  poetic  lashes, 
shone  like  stars.  The  effect  of  this  luminous  head  from  out 
the  soft  nullity  of  the  brown  shadows  about  it,  that  canceled 
its  more  prosaic  environment,  might  have  impressed  far  less 
alert  perceptions  than  Mrs.  Bowles  possessed.  It  never 
would  have  occurred  to  her  to  characterize  it  as  ethereal  or 
unearthly,  but  the  jealousy  of  her  temperament  was  vigilant 
enough  to  recognize  a  possible  applicability  of  the  phrase 
and  to  grudge  it.  For  Mrs.  Bowles  was  jealous  on  princi 
ple  ;  not  that  she  coveted  Rathburn's  devotion  for  herself, 
but  it  irked  her  that  Marcella  should  receive  this  homage, 
or  that  indeed  anything  generally  esteemed  of  worth,  whether 
she  herself  truly  acccounted  it  of  value  or  not,  should  be  at 
her  option.  She  had  looked  upon  herself  so  long  as  a  sacri 
fice  in  some  inexplicable  sort  to  duty  that  she  was  prone  to 
account  each  grace  of  person,  each  opportunity  of  position, 
as  an  advantage  wrested  from  her  and  her  inalienable  right. 
To  be  sure,  Mrs.  Bowles  could  not  have  logically  defended 
this  claim  of  holding  a  patent  upon  beauty  and  charm.  It 
was  enough  that  she  chose  to  maintain  it.  Her  bead-like 
eyes  suddenly  glowed,  as  she  looked  askance  at  the  girl, 
who  grew  hardly  less  attractively  human  in  leaving  the  an 
gelic  effects  of  the  shadows,  and  coming  out  into  the  light 
bearing  the  little  blue  bowl  full  of  broth. 

Rathburn  looked  up  at  her  with  his  face  irradiated,  as  he 
lifted  himself  to  a  half-sitting  posture.  His  glance  met  with 
slight  response ;  the  expression  seemed  suddenly  expunged 
from  her  eyes  as  they  encountered  his.  They  were  bright 
as  ever,  it  is  true,  but  blankly  indifferent,  and  presently 
averted. 

He  gazed  questioningly,  pleadingly,  at  her,  but  she  did 
not  look  at  him  again,  and  after  he  had  drunk  the  broth  he 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       471 

sank  back  amongst  the  pillows,  more  definitely  aware  than 
before  of  his  pain,  the  jeopardy  of  his  wound,  and  his  re 
duced  estate. 

"  An'  how  do  you-uns  kem  on,  cousin  Eli  ?  "  asked  Mrs. 
Bowles,  shifting  her  chair  slightly,  and  turning  to  her  host, 
who  sat,  with  his  hat  on  his  head,  his  hands  on  either  knee, 
his  eyes  on  the  glowing  coals. 

Mrs.  Strobe  looked  keenly  watchful.  Marcella  paused 
as  she  was  going  out  of  the  door  with  the  emptied  bowl  in 
her  hand,  and  turned  back.  Quick  as  they  were,  they  could 
not  forestall  a  deep  groan  that  suddenly  burst  from  his  lips 
as  from  a  surcharged  heart. 

"  Oh,  powerful  bad  off,  cousin  M'ria.  I  be  mightily  trou 
bled,  —  mightily  troubled." 

Mrs.  Strobe  broke  into  a  laugh,  seemingly  the  essence  of 
light-hearted  gayety,  albeit  her  small,  keen  eyes  burned  like 
coals  of  fire.  Marcella  came  back  to  the  hearth,  showing 
her  face  in  the  radiance  with  a  gallant  smile  upon  her  trem 
bling  lips. 

"  Law,  dad,"  she  exclaimed  in  a  tone  of  rallying  mirth, 
"ye  wouldn't  think  nuthin'  o'  tricks  an'  the  wiles  c/ yer 
p'litical  enemies  ef  ye  hed  yer  health  right  good.  They 
know  they  can't  beat  ye  at  the  polls,  —  ye  jes'  stan'  solid 
with  the  people,  —  so  they  hev  ter  try  ter  yank  ye  out'n  yer 
office  some  other  way." 

"  Laws-a-massy,  what  air  they  a-tryin'  ter  do  ?  "  demanded 
Mrs.  Bowles,  with  a  lively  curiosity.  Trouble  was  evidently 
a-stalk  in -the  Cove,  and  gave  its  denizens  many  a  twinge  of 
anguish,  although  she  had  latterly  felt  as  if  the  wellmgh 
inaccessible  slopes  of  the  mountain  were  exclusively  its  baili 
wick.  She  experienced  a  certain  reconciliation  with  her  own 
lot  in  the  knowledge  that  others  were  unhappy  too. 

"  That 's  jes'  like  Eli,  —  he  always  war  slow,  sencet  he 
war  knee-high  ter  a  duck,"  said  his  small  mother,  with  an 
affectation  of  contempt.  "  Time  he  hev  hed  a  day  or  so  ter 
study  'bout  it,  an'  turn  it  this-a-way  an'  that-a-way,  he  '11  git 


472   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

ter  the  p'int  o*  view  whar  Marcelly  an*  me  jumped  in  one 
second.  Men  air  pitiful  critters,  —  so  slow-minded  !  " 

Eli  Strobe  looked  wistfully  from  one  to  the  other  of  his 
feminine  supporters,  eager  to  adopt  their  sanguine  views, 
and  yet  unable  to  repudiate  his  own  conviction  and  to  shake 
off  the  palsy  of  his  fears. 

"  Now,  M'ria,ye  mark  my  words,  — an' ye  too,  Eugene," 
the  little  dame  proceeded  with  great  jocularity,  as  if  the 
whole  matter  were  a  subject  for  mirth,  —  "  ef  by  ter-morrer 
Eli  won't  be  a-struttin'  'bout  hyar,  a-laffiin'  an'  a-chucklin' 
at  Joshua  Nevins's  friends  ez  could  n't  keep  Eli  from  bein' 
elected  constable  o'  Brumsaidge  Cove,  but  think  they  kin 
make  out  ez  he  ain't  fit  ter  hold  office,  bein'  insane  !  Ha  ! 
ha!  ha!" 

Even  Mrs.  Bowles,  after  a  moment  of  stupefied  surprise, 
burst  into  a  laugh  of  derision.  Strobe  turned  and  eagerly 
gazed  at  her,  as  if  to  assure  himself  of  her  opinion  of  his  san 
ity,  taking  testimony,  as  it  were,  in  his  own  trial  of  himself. 

"  Yes,  sir  !  "  said  Mrs.  Strobe,  wiping  from  her  eyes  the 
tears  of  this  laughter  on  the  corner  of  her  apron.  "•  The 
off  cer  o'  the  law  hev  jes'  been  hyar,  a-gallopin'  ter  sarve  a 
notice  ez  in  five  days  they  hev  a  '  inquisition  o'  lunacy,'  the 
fool  called  it.  He  looked  like  a  maniac,  so  foolish,  an'  cast 
down,  an'  bashful;  hedn't  the  face  ter  take  a  drink  with 
Eli,  though  I  fetched  out  the  jimmyjohn  expressly." 

"  Air  it  Nevins  hisself  a-suin',  or  what  air  he  a-aimin'  ter 
do,  — a  brazen-faced  buzzard  ?  "  demanded  Mrs.  Bowles  in 
eager  accents. 

"  Naw,  —  naw  !  "  The  old  woman  shook  her  head  warily 
to  intimate  Nevins's  crafty  mode  of  procedure.  "  The  man 
ez  applied  for  the  inquisition  air  some  sorter  kin  ter  Eli. 
Ye  'member  hearin'  o'  Pete  Minton,  ez  old  Squair  Denly 
lef \  some  county  bonds  ter  ?  Waal,  'cordin'  ter  the  will, 
Eli,  bein'  named  arter  him,  war  ter  hev  the  interns'  through 
life ;  then  arterward  the  bonds  war  ter  go  ter  Pete,  the 
Squair's  nevy,  an'  Eli  war  Pete's  guardeen.  Now  Minton,' 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       473 

ez  air  twenty  year  old,  purtends  ter  be  mighty  oneasy  'bout 
them  bonds,  an*  wants  the  court  ter  'quire  inter  Eli's  bein' 
able  ter  manage  this  prawperty.  Course  he  hev  been  put  up 
ter  sech  by  Nevins,  kase  ef  the  inquisition  war  ter  'low  ez 
Eli  be  insane  they  m ought  git  up  a  new  'lection,  an'  ef  Eli 
war  out'n  the  way  Nevins  would  hev  a  walk-over  an'  strut 
around,  an'  be  constable  of  Brumsaidge  !  " 

"  That  he  never  shell !  "  cried  the  incumbent,  springing 
to  his  feet.  "  I  hev  been  man  enough  ter  git  the  office.  — 
I  reckon  I  be  man  enough  ter  hold  it.  M'ria,"  —  his  voice 
suddenly  dropped  from  its  rotund  resonance  to  an  appeal 
ing  quaver,  —  "  did  you-uns  ever  hear  ez  Teck  Jepson  war 
dead,  —  ez  I  bed  killed  him  ?  " 

"  Laws-a-massy,  naw ! "  cried  Mrs.  Bowles,  her  face 
flabby  and  white.  "  When  ?  " 

Rathburn's  heart  ached  as  he  looked  at  Marcella.  He 
saw  the  pain  in  her  eyes  ;  the  suffusing  flush  mounted  to 
her  white  brow,  but  she  tossed  back  her  bright  hair,  and  her 
red  lips  parted  in  a  cheery  half  smile  over  her  white  teeth 
as  she  explained  :  — 

"•  Dad  say  somebody  tole  him  —  he  disremembers  now 
who  't  war  —  ez  Teck  Jepson  war  killed  in  that  scuffle  at 
the  horse-race,  ez  dad  killed  Teck.  An'  I  fooled  dad  some, 
too."  Her  eyes  danced,  her  laughter  rang  out.  "  /  tole 
him  whar  Teck  war  buried.  An'  ef  ye  '11  b'lieve  me,  dad 
VUeved  it,  an'  I  hearn  him  'quirin  roun'  one  day  ez  ter  who 
hed  preached  the  fun 'el  sermon.  Granny  said  that 's  what 
the  folks  purtend  he  air  crazy  'bout." 

Once  more  her  laughter  rang  out  clear  and  metallic.  It 
had  a  natural  enough  sound  to  Mrs.  Bowles,  who  joined  in, 
while  Mrs.  Strobe,  with  her  birdlike  head  askew,  remarked, 
"  Eli  air  so  sobersided  he  '11  b'lieve  mos'  ennything  enny- 
body  tells  him  with  a  straight  face.  He  mus*  be  a  leetle 
teched  in  the  head  fur  that,  kase  long  ez  T  hev  been  livin'  I 
hain't  hearn  the  truth  tole  in  Brumsaidge  Cove  but  wunst 
or  twict,  an'  then  't  war  'bout  the  weather." 


474       THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOM  SEDGE   COVE. 

Strobe  listened  with  an  eagerness  to  be  convinced  pathetic 
in  its  intensity.  Rathburn  watched  the  symptoms  of  his 
mania  vacillating  with  his  ambition,  and  his  sense  of  the 
jeopardy  of  his  precious  office,  with  an  appreciation  of  the 
pathological  significance  of  the  scene  which  even  sympathy 
with  the  actors  could  not  altogether  dull.  Perhaps  some 
thing  of  this  showed  in  his  face,  turned  fixedly  upon  Kli 
Strobe,  as  the  burly  constable,  moody  and  meditative,  evi 
dently  puzzling  out  the  distraught  contradictions  of  his  con 
victions,  relapsed  into  silently  gazing  into  the  fire. 

Marcella  was  sitting  in  a  low  chair  beside  the  lounge, 
stringing  red  peppers,  her  evening  task,  when  Mrs.  Bowles 
began  to  explain  to  Mrs.  Strobe  how  Bob  had  chanced  to 
disappear  from  his  home,  —  the  exposition  somewhat  com 
plicated  and  lengthened  by  the  perception  that  her  craft 
availed  little,  and  that  behind  Mrs.  Strobe's  specious  polite 
ness  lurked  an  accurate  divination  of  the  true  state  of  the 
case.  Twice  while  it  was  in  progress  Rathburn  fell  under 
the  impression  that  Marcella  was  about  to  speak  to  him  ; 
but  when  he  turned  his  head  suddenly  toward  her.  her  eyes 
were  downcast  upon  the  work  in  her  hands,  the  firelight  dan 
cing  over  the  masses  of  her  waving  hair,  and  giving  an  added 
gloss  and  an  intenser  glow  to  the  vivid  scarlet  of  the  string 
of  red  pepper  pods  trailing  over  her  dark,  brownish-green 
dress.  And  again  his  attention  reverted  to  his  host,  sit 
ting  ponderously  thoughtful  before  the  fire.  When  he  next 
started  with  the  idea  that  -she  was  about  to  speak,  he  en 
countered  her  lustrous  brown  eyes  fixed  upon  him  ;  the  del 
icate  red  lips  were  a-quiver  ;  her  straight  brows  were  knitted 
sternly.  "  Ain't  ye  sati'fied  yit,"  she  demanded  in  a  low 
voice,  that,  albeit  tense  with  satire,  was  inaudible  to  the 
gabbling  Mrs.  Bowles,  still  explaining  Bob's  flight,  "  but  ye 
mus'  stare-gaze  him  ter  find  out  suthin'  else  ter  tell  ?  " 

He  was  feeble,  and  had  had  much  to  endure.  His  courage 
failed  on  the  instant  before  the  idea  of  her  antagonism. 

"  Why,  Marcella  !  "  he  cried,  amazed. 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COTE.       475 

She  reached  down  for  another  pepper-pod,  not  lowering 
her  gleaming  eyes.  "  Would  n't  ye  like  ter  feel  his  pulse  ? 
Mebbe  ye  could  gin  the  inquisition  folks  another  p'int  or 
two  !  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  he  demanded,  forced  to  assume 
the  defensive.  "  I  never  gave  any  points  for  the  inquisition." 

"  Who  tole  on  him,  then  ?  Who  but  ye  hed  larnin'  enough 
ter  sense  how  his  mind  air  catawampus  jes'  on  that  idee,  an' 
no  other  ?  " 

"  I  ?  Never  —  never  !  "  he  exclaimed,  so  visibly  shocked 
that  his  face  constrained  credence  as  well  as  his  words. 

She  sat  looking  at  him,  holding  the  vivid  coils  of  the 
peppers  in  her  idle  hands. 

"  Then,"  she  said,  darkly  frowning,  "'twar  Andy  Long- 
wood.  I  always  knowed  he  war  silly  ez  a  sheep,  but  I 
thunk  ez  harmless  ez  a  sheep." 

After  a  little  she  raised  her  eyes  and  smiled  brilliantly  at 
him,  as  if  to  make  amends.  She  said  no  more,  but  as  she 
strung  the  peppers  silently  listened  to  Mrs.  Bowles,  who 
now  and  then  called  on  Rathburn  to  confirm  her  statements 
as  to  the  plight  in  which  she  had  found  him.  She  met  with 
a  spirited  response.  Comfort  and  security  did  not  annul  in 
any  degree  his  appreciation  of  his  injuries  or  his  suffering. 
The  detail  of  all  that  he  had  recounted  to  Mrs.  Bowles  elic 
ited  from  time  to  time  exclamations  of  surprise  and  horror, 
often  but  half  articulate,  from  Mrs.  Strobe  and  Eli.  Mar- 
cella  once  or  twice  commented  more  at  length.  "  Did  ye 
choke  Baintree —  hard,  sure  enough  —  jes'  kase  he  wouldn't 
tell  ye  whar  the  silver  war  ?  "  she  asked,  her  brilliant,  dilated 
eyes  dreamily  fastened  on  space,  evidently  witnessing  the 
scene  reenacted  before  her  in  imagination.  Her  hands  had 
fallen  idly  in  her  lap ;  the  scarlet  coil  of  the  red  peppers 
hung  from  her  listless  grasp,  and  trailed  upon  the  floor. 

"  Indeed  I  did,"  asseverated  Rathburn.  **  He  had  no 
right  to  fool  me  as  he  did  all  the  summer." 

"'Twar  his  secret,"  Marcella  suggested  in  a  vague,  pre- 


476   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

occupied  tone,  still  doubtfully  staring  into  scenes  that  her 
own  fancy  painted.  "  He  hed  a  right  ter  keep  it." 

"  And  such  a  secret !  "  cried  Rathburn,  with  a  curling  lip. 
"  He  never  found  the  float.  Samuel  Keale  found  the  float.'* 

"  An',"  said  Mrs.  Bowles,  lowering  her  voice  mysteri 
ously,  "  whar  d  'ye  reckon  he  fund  it,  an'  whar  d  'ye  reckon 
his  bones  be  hid  now  ?  In  a  cave  on  Teck  Jepson's  land, 
an'  —  ye  mark  my  words  —  Teck  Jepson  hed  some  hand  in 
puttin'  him  thar." 

A  galvanic  shock  seemed  to  pervade  the  circle.  Then 
Marcella's  laughter  rang  upon  the  air.  "  Never  in  this 
worl',"  she  cried  gayly,  composedly  gathering  up  the  long 
red  cables  of  the  peppers.  "  Teck  Jepson  never  hid  nuthin' 
he  done.  He  'd  hev  been  struttin'  'roun'  hyar,  callin'  on 
folks  ter  admire  how  much  his  actions  war  like  David,  or 
SoFmon,  or  G'liath,  or  somebody  ez  the  law  ain't  'quaintecl 
with,  an'  he  'd  hev  been  powerful  s'prised  when  the  sher'ff 
did  n't  'gree  with  him."  Once  more  the  incongruity  of  the 
idea  elicited  a  peal  of  laughter.  "  Naw,  Teck  Jepson  air 
too  sodden  in  pride  ter  hide  what  he  do." 

As  Mrs.  Bowles  began  to  eagerly  set  forth  further  rea 
sons,  reminding  Mrs.  Strobe  of  Jepson's  antagonism  to 
Keale,  Rathburn  spoke  aside  in  a  low  tone  to  Marcella. 

"  You  were  quick  enough  to  believe  something  mean  of 
me,"  he  said  reproachfully,  "  but  you  scout  the  idea  of  Jep 
son's  doing  anything  underhand." 

He  expected  her  to  protest.  She  only  stared  at  him  for 
a  moment,  startled,  with  wide,  questioning  eyes  and  a  con 
victed  mien.  Then  she  fell  to  dreamily  studying  the  ver 
milion  coals  and  the  gathering  gray  ash,  and  said  little 
more,  while  the  group  of  gossips  drew  nearer  and  nearer  the 
dying  fire. 

She  was  meditative  and  absent  during  the  days  that  fol 
lowed,  save  in  the  intervals  when  she  intently  marked  her 
father's  manner  and  took  heedful  note  of  his  words.  For 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       477 

Mrs.  Strobe's  prophecy  was  in  some  sort  verified.  "With 
greater  familiarity  with  the  idea  that  his  cherished  office 
was  threatened  came  the  resolution  of  resistance.  Strobe 
had  rallied  his  courage.  He  bore  himself  once  more  with 
his  former  burly  dignity. 

"  'T  ain't  nuthin'  ter  me  whether  Teck  Jepson  air  dead 
or  no.  I  ain't  grave-digger,  nor  doctor,  nor  chief  mourner. 
I  'm  constable  o'  Brumsaidge.  I  hearn  fur  news  ez  he  war 
dead.  Ef  't  ain't  true,  I  ain't  keerin'." 

Thus,  imagining  that  he  spoke  of  his  independent  convic 
tions,  he  conned  again  and  again  the  lesson  his  mother  and 
daughter  had  set  him  to  learn.  Rathburn,  still  on  the  lounge 
drawn  up  to  the  side  of  the  fire,  in  the  midst  of  the  domestic 
life,  and  thus  suffering  none  of  the  dreary  isolation  of  an 
invalid,  felt  his  heart  go  out  to  the  two  women  in  troubled 
forebodings  concerning  the  inquisition.  They  said  little, 
but  he  noted  an  urgent  anxiety  as  to  the  weather,  and  when 
the  day  broke  chill  and  lowering  their  spirits  visibly  rose  ; 
in  the  afternoon,  as  the  first  snow  of  the  season  began  to  sift 
down  on  the  wintry  mountain  wildernesses,  they  became  ab 
solutely  cheerful. 

"  Thar,  now  !  fallin'  weather !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Strobe, 
with  the  accents  of  vexation  and  a  triumphant  eye.  "  Eli,  I 
ain't  goin'  ter  let  ye  go  over  yander  ter  the  store  whar  the 
sher'ff  's  app'inted  ter  hold  the  inquisition  ;  a  man  ailin'  in 
health  hev  ter  be  housed  in  fallin'  weather.  Let  him  bring 
his  able-bodied  jury  over  hyar  an'  examinate  ye,  an'  hear 
mine  an'  Marcelly's  testimony,  'cordin'  ter  the  subpeeny. 
I'm  going'  ter  send  him  that  identical  word,  an'  see  ef  he 
won't." 

And  thus  it  chanced  that  it  was  under  no  new  conditions, 
surrounded  by  no  scenes  to  which  he  was  long  unaccus 
tomed,  that  Eli  Strobe  made  his  fight  anew  for  the  office 
he  had  already  won,  and  the  ambition  dearer  to  him  than 
his  life. 


XXVII. 

THE  snow  was  deep  upon  the  ground,  drifts  filled  many 
a  red  clay  gully,  the  dark  boughs  of  the  trees  all  bore  a  thick 
white  line,  the  mountains  were  ghastly  under  a  gray  sky, 
and  still  the  myriad  flakes  were  falling,  when  the  noiseless 
horsemen  rode  up  to  the  door,  and  the  jury  of  the  inquisi 
tion  came  filing  in.  They  met  upon  the  threshold  the  sub 
ject  of  their  deliberations,  bluff,  burly,  with  that  genial 
political  jocularity  that  discounts  all  other  bids  for  popu 
larity,  his  heavy  bass  laughter  mingling  with  his  gay  greet 
ings. 

"  Howdy,  boys  !  Kem  in,  kem  in  !  That 's  right,  — 
stomp  the  snow  off  !  Ye  know  mam  's  mighty  partic  lar 
'bout  that  thar  new  rag  kyarpet  o'  hern.  Kem  ter  see  ef  I 
hev  got  a  bee  in  my  bonnet,  hev  ye  ?  Waal,  waal ;  we  '11 
listen  ter  hear  that  same  bee  buzz  !  " 

The  heavy  mountaineers  looked  in  blank  surprise  at  each 
other.  This  discourse  seemed  to  them  lucid  as  reason  itself. 
They  had  expected  mere  incoherent  babbling,  from  the  re 
ports  set  a-flying  about  Broomsedge  Cove.  Marcella's  face, 
smiling  yet  with  a  certain  proud  defiance,  and  Mrs.  Strobe's 
jaunty,  debonair  salutation  betokened  scant  anxiety,  and  did 
much  to  annul  the  effect  of  what  they  had  heard.  There 
were  others  besides  the  jury,  —  witnesses,  one  or  two  lawyers, 
and  a  number  of  mountaineers  who  were  merely  spectators 
of  the  proceeding ;  some  of  them  wore  a  sheepish,  hang-dog 
air,  notably  Andy  Longwood  and  Pete  Minton,  at  whose  in 
stance  the  investigation  was  had.  Clem  Sanders  was  one 
of  the  jury,  as  reluctant  a  freeholder  as  could  be  found  in 
Broomsedge  Cove,  or,  for  the  matter  of  that,  in  the  Great 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.   479 

Smoky  Mountains.  He  carried  his  shoulders  slouched  for 
ward  in  the  heavy,  aged  manner  which  he  sometimes  af 
fected,  and  he  shambled  along  as  if  shackled  by  chains  of 
his  own  forging  ;  he  looked  with  humble,  beseeching  eyes 
at  Marcella,  as  if  conjuring  her  to  observe  that  he  was  not 
there  in  any  sense  of  his  own  motion. 

"  Kem  up  close  by  the  fire,  gentlemen,"  said  Eli.  "  Airish 
out'n  doors,  ain't  it  ?  " 

As  they  ranged  themselves  about  the  broad  hearth,  they 
were  all  staring  hard  at  Rathburn,  who  lay  quite  silent,  since 
his  host  did  not  explain  Ids  presence,  wondering  a  trifle 
within  himself  to  feel  so  agitated,  so  partisan,  so  eager  as  to 
the  result  of  the  investigations. 

Sundry  questions  were  put  to  Strobe,  to  which  he  listened 
with  his  head  a  trifle  askew,  his  legs  crossed,  one  hand  on 
his  knee,  the  other  arm  akimbo,  his  eyes  quizzically  glan 
cing  from  under  his  hatbrim.  His  whole  air  was  that  of  gay 
good-humor,  falling  in  naturally  with  the  current  of  events, 
and  in  no  wise  resentful  of  the  course  they  had  taken.  The 
queries,  chiefly  relating  to  matters  of  business  usage  and  of 
certain  processes  of  the  law,  the  functions  of  his  office,  were 
promptly  and  decisively  answered.  Once,  Marcella,  feign 
ing  to  misunderstand  their  drift,  handed  him  an  open  book, 
and  the  company  enjoyed  an  exhibition  of  u  dad's  "  rare  ac 
complishment  of  reading,  which  he  did  in  a  full,  rotund 
drone  and  with  much  vigor  of  emphasis.  The  girl's  smile 
of  triumph  as  she  closed  the  volume  and  laid  it  on  the  high 
mantel-shelf  roused  a  certain  antagonism  in  the  breasts  of 
several  of  the  diligent  inquirers.  There  was  a  momentary 
pause  ;  the  batten  shutter  was  open,  the  great  glowing  fire 
sufficiently  warming  the  room  although  thus  generously 
ventilated,  and  from  where  Marcella  stood,  her  hand  still 
on  the  high  mantel-piece,  she  could  see  the  silent  flakes,  fall 
ing,  falling,  limiting  the  world,  —  for  hardly  the  nearest 
mountain  was  visible,  —  a  mere  dull,  dun  suggestion  of  wood 
and  range  and  river,  like  the  first  faint  washings  of  a  scene 


480        THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOM  SEDGE   COVE. 

in  sepia.  No  sound  came  from  without,  although  nearly  a 
score  of  horses  stamped  the  snow  in  the  shed  behind  the 
house.  The  dog  of  the  "  frequent  visitor,"  a  hospitable 
animal,  stood  in  the  doorway  suavely  wagging  his  tail,  pleased 
to  see  so  many  guests  at  once.  They  were  all  looking  with 
expectant  interest  at  Marcella's  face  as  the  next  question 
was  asked  ;  so  fixedly  that  perhaps  it  was  not  unnatural 
that  Eli  Strobe  should  turn  and  follow  the  general  glance. 
A  sinile  dawned  in  her  eyes  as  they  met  his,  so  replete  with 
an  exquisite  light,  and  hope,  and  love,  that  had  a  sudden 
sun-burst  illumined  that  white,  dead  day  it  could  hardly 
have  seemed  brighter.  It  was  a  fine  display  of  nerve,  of 
will-power,  Rathburn  thought,  knowing  her  as  he  did. 

"  How  did  ye  git  hurt,  Mr.  Strobe  ?  "  was  the  significant 
demand. 

"Teck  Jepson  rid  me  down,"  said  the  constable,  his  eyes 
fixed  on  his  daughter. 

The  circle  of  mountaineers  slowly  shifted  their  chairs,  and 
one  or  two  spit  profusely  into  the  fire,  aiming  carefully  at 
long  range. 

"  Did  you-uns  hurt  him  ?  " 

Strobe  fixed  his  gaze  on  the  talismanic  brightness  of  his 
daughter's  eyes. 

"  Bern'  ez  I  war  knocked  senseless,  sir,  I  could  n't  onder- 
take  ter  say." 

Another  pause,  so  silent  that  naught  could  be  heard  save 
the  roar  of  the  flames  in  the  wide  chimney,  and  the  foot 
falls  of  the  dog  turning  away  and  trotting  along  to  the  end 
of  the  porch,  where  he  presently  found  entertainment,  pecul 
iarly  pleasing  to  his  kind,  in  barking  in  a  frenzy  of  affec 
tation  at  the  horses  of  the  visitors. 

"  Did  n't  ye  tell  Andy  Longwood  one  day  ezye  hed  killed 
Teck  Jepson  in  that  scuffle  ?  " 

"  Sartainly  I  said  so  !  Somebody  tole  me  that  fur  news 
an'  bein'  ez  I  war  knocked  senseless,  I  disremembered  what 
happened.  An'  this  hyar  mischievious  gal  o'  mine,  fur  a 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.       481 

joke  on  her  ole  dad,  tole  me  whar  they  hed  buried  him.  I 
'lowed  they  would  n't  hev  buried  him  'thout  he  war  dead. 
Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  "  his  burly  bass  laugh  rang  out. 

Clem  Sanders  had  plucked  up  his  spirits.  He  looked 
about  amongst  his  confreres  with  a  curling  lip  of  scorn. 
Andy  Longwood  hung  his  abashed  head.  The  political  an 
tagonists  of  Eli  Strobe  were  visibly  disconcerted. 

"  Only  one  more  question  now :  Hev  ye  seen  Teck 
lately?" 

Eli  Strobe  nodded. 

"  How  did  he  look,  an'  what  did  he  talk  'bout  ?  " 

"Toler'ble  nat'ral,  cornsiderin'."  The  long  strain  was 
beginning  to  tell  on  the  constable's  nerves.  His  glance  had 
wandered  from  Marcella's  face,  out  of  which  the  light  died 
suddenly,  leaving  it  livid,  with  wild,  dilated  eyes.  "  Ye 
never  would  hev  tuk  him  fur  a  harnt !  He  talked  same  ez 
ever,  'bout  G'liath  an'  Sol'mon  an'  them,  ez  he  used  ter  set 
sech  store  by." 

There  was  a  moment  of  terrible  suspense  to  his  mother 
and  his  daughter.  Then  the  querist,  evidently  accepting 
the  reply  as  partly  jocose,  and  taken  in  connection  with  his 
previous  denials  and  declarations  as  satisfactory,  said,  "  That 
will  do  for  you  !  " 

Mrs.  Strobe's  admirable  elasticity  was  amply  demon 
strated  by  her  rebound  from  this  ordeal.  She  furnished  the 
jury  with  a  test  for  sanity  which  they  all  declined  to  apply. 
When  asked  if  she  considered  her  son  sane,  she  declared 
he  was  as  sane  as  any  man  could  be,  but  in  her  opinion  no 
men  were  sane. 

"  I  never  seen  one  ez  could  thread  a  needle,"  she  declared, 
with  her  specious  gravity.  "  An'  yit  enny  woman  kin  do 
that,  an*  kin  do  men's  work  too,  —  plow,  an'  drive,  an* 
ride,  an'  shoot  a  gun.  Nare  one  o'  ye  kin  thread  a  needle. 
I  '11  try  ye,  sher'ff ;  I  '11  favor  ye  with  a  big-eyed  needle  an* 
a  small,  thin  thread.  I  '11  wax  it,"  she  conceded  alluringly, 
reaching  out  for  the  big  brown  gourd  that  served  aa  work- 
basket. 


482   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

But  the  officer  precipitately  declined,  and  the  examina 
tion  broke  up  in  a  general  laugh.  After  the  jury  had  con 
sulted  apart  and  agreed  upon  their  verdict,  there  was  a  more 
genial  closing  up  of  the  circle  about  the  fire.  Mrs.  Strobe 
and  Marcella  sat  among  the  guests,  indifferent  to  the  con 
versation  for  a  time  and  mentally  exhausted.  They  per 
ceived  how  signal  a  victory  they  had  won  against  the  facts 
and  in  defiance  of  the  law,  —  hardly  so  potent  a  force  as 
the  crafty  affection  of  a  mother  and  a  daughter,  —  and 
they  experienced  a  glow  of  deep  gratulation.  But  it  was 
necessary  to  keep  a  guard  upon  Eli  Strobe's  words,  and 
Marcella  roused  herself  to  listen  as  he  made  known  to  the 
coterie  how  Rathburn  had  fared  at  the  hands  of  Jake  Bain- 
tree,  and  the  fact  that  the  criminal  had  fled  the  country. 

"  Yestiddy  I  rid  up  ter  his  folkses'  house,  countin'  on  ar- 
restin'  him,  bein'  constable  o'  Brumsaidge,"  —  he  rolled  the 
fine  phrase  under  his  tongue,  —  "an'  his  folks  declared  out 
they  hed  n't  seen  nor  hearn  o'  him  fur  weeks.  He  done  this 
crime  jes'  'count  o'  Eugene  Rathburn 's  makin'  him  tell  whar 
Sam'l  Keale  los'  his  life,  kase  Eugene  air  mighty  sharp  set 
fur  riches,  an'  he  b'lieves  the  silver  air  thar  in  that  cave  on 
Jepson's  land.'* 

"  I  '11  tell  ye  who  hain't  lef  the  kentry,"  said  Bassett, 
with  a  grim  nod  and  a  fiery  eye,  —  "  Teck  Jepson.  Air 
one  o'  you  off  eers  o'  the  law  hev  got  my  cornsent  ter  arrest 
Teck  Jepson !  " 

Eli  Strobe's  eyebrows  were  lifted  in  surprise  ;  his  lips  had 
parted,  but  the  quick  little  mother  struck  in  first :  — 

"Arrest  Teek  Jepson  for  what?" 

"  Let  the  sher'ff  say."  Bassett  evaded  a  direct  reply.  "  I 
seen  him  'bout  five  days  ago  a-standin'  in  his  porch,  —  't  war 
arter  a  heavy  rain,  —  a-shakin'  hands  with  this  same  man 
Baintree  what  he  purtended  wunst  ter  b'lieve  so  guilty,  an' 
then  purtected  agin  the  lynchers,  —  they  say  so"  he  inter 
polated,  becoming  suddenly  mindful  of  the  significance  of 
the  presence  of  the  sheriff,  —  "  this  man  ez  war  tried  fur 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.       483 

killin'  Sam'l  Keale  ez  be  dead,  an'  his  body  hid  all  these 
years  in  a  cave  on  Jepson's  land.  Shakin'  hands  with 
him,  sir,  ez  ef  they  war  partners,  —  an'  I  say  they  war 
partners  !  " 

The  officer  turned  a  serious  face.  "  This  must  be  inves 
tigated.  I  '11  go  thar  ter-night." 

"  Jepson  oughter  be  'rested,  or  he  '11  foller  Baintree,  an* 
git  away  too.  An'  he  mought  be  warned.  Ye  know  "  — 
Bassett  turned  to  Rathb urn's  couch  —  u  ye  war  warned 
yerse'f." 

Rathb  urn  shifted  his  position  a  trifle.  He  was  flushed 
and  conscious.  He  hardly  dared  to  glance  at  Marcella  ; 
and  when  the  firelight  leaped  u  presently  he  saw  that  she 
had  silently  left  the  room.  He  was  glad  of  that.  In  her 
presence  he  felt  that  he  was  not  sure  of  keeping  the  secret 
of  who  had  warned  him  under  the  lynx-eyed  vigilance  of 
these  savage  men,  more  than  one  of  whom  he  suspected  of 
belonging  to  the  band  of  lynchers. 

The  night  had  come,  —  hardly  to  be  called  darkness,  for 
the  white  earth  seemed  possessed  of  a  pallid  persistence 
that  asserted  itself  against  the  gloom  of  the  sky.  And  the 
sky  was  not  all  gloom.  Behind  the  clouds  a  moon  lurked ; 
now  and  then  in  thin  folds  of  vapor  showing  a  spectral, 
half-veiled  face,  and  anon  shifting  along  the  highways  of 
the  skies,  its  presence  barely  suggested  behind  the  denser 
mediums.  A  dreary  night  it  seemed  to  Marcella.  Never 
had  she  so  revolted  from  the  world.  The  great  chestnut- 
tree  at  the  gate  was  laden  with  snow ;  every  gnarled, 
twisted  bough,  how  gaunt  against  the  gray  sky  !  The  zigzag 
rail  fence  was  all  made  definite,  too,  by  its  alternations  of 
white  and  black  lines.  "Why  should  her  hands  be  cold  —  so 
cold  ?  Had  she  not  just  come  from  the  fire  ?  She  felt  its 
warmth  still  in  the  folds  of  her  dress.  And  why  should  she 
shiver  so  ?  She  was  choking,  —  a  cord  was  stretched  across 
her  throat ;  her  heart  was  beating  fast  and  loud.  She  pres 
ently  recognized  her  intention  in  astonishment,  as  if  it  were 


484       THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE. 

projected  by  another  entity  than  herself.  She  was  out 
among  the  horses.  A  score,  at  least,  stood  in  her  father's 
shed.  One,  a  clean-built  black  mare,  turned  a  shapely  head, 
and  gazed  at  her  in  surprise  with  luminous,  moonlit  eyes, 
for  the  moon  was  suddenly  shining,  and  many  a  shadow  was 
on  the  snow.  She  slipped  under  the  neck  of  a  raw-boned 
bay,  who  snorted  and  tossed  up  his  head  in  fright.  The 
fleetest,  —  the  fleetest  she  must  have,  and  her  eyes  dilated 
as  she  stood  next  a  powerful  iron-gray,  full  of  spirit,  that 
shied  away  as  she  caught  his  mane  with  one  hand  and  pulled 
herself  upon  his  unsaddled  back.  His  bridle  had  not  been 
removed ;  she  slipped  the  hitching-rein,  and  the  next  mo 
ment  the  creature  was  speeding  away  upon  the  hardening 
snow  with  a  snort  of  delight  in  the  keen  frosty  air.  The 
sound  roused  the  men  brooding  over  the  fire  within. 

"  Who 's  that  gone  ?  "  said  the  sheriff,  suddenly  lifting 
his  head. 

Not  a  man  had  left  the  room.  In  vague  agitation  the 
group  rose  uncertainly. 

"  Somebody  *s  after  them  horses,"  suggested  one. 

There  was  a  pell-mell  rush  to  the  door.  A  wild  excite 
ment  of  horses  kicking  and  pawing  at  close  quarters  ensued 
in  the  shed.  Then  a  sharp  cry,  "  My  horse  !  My  horse  is 
gone  !  "  exclaimed  the  sheriff.  "  Some  man  has  got  my  good 
gray  horse  ! " 

The  moon  was  out  again,  —  a  chill  glitter,  and  the  earth 
very  white  ;  and  on  the  brow  of  the  hill,  speeding  toward 
Jepson's  cabin,  was  visible  a  swift  equestrian  figure.  A 
score  of  men,  save  one,  were  in  the  saddle.  A  wild  halloo 
rang  through  the  air,  and  then,  with  all  the  fervor  of  the 
chase  kindling  in  their  blood,  they  were  in  pursuit.  When 
the  moon  was  out  it  showed  rank  after  rank  of  the  wild 
mountain  men  of  the  region ;  when  the  moon  was  in,  a  mys 
tic  company  of  mounted  shadows  slipped  noiselessly  over 
the  snow.  Swift  as  they  were,  their  speed  would  not  avail. 
They  did  not  gain  on  the  fugitive.  The  long  lengths  of 


•THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.       485 

glittering,  moonlit  snow  or  shadowy  whiteness  still  remained 
the  same  between  them  and  the  sheriff's  horse.  It  behooves 
an  officer  of  the  law  in  that  country  to  be  well  mounted,  and 
the  iron-gray  had  no  equal  for  speed  or  spirit.  Only  a  bullet 
could  be  swifter,  and  presently  one  whizzed  past.  The  gray 
horse  had  heard  the  like  before,  and  plunged  and  snorted  in 
fright.  Another,  —  so  close  that  it  seemed  to  Marcella  that 
it  must  have  grazed  her  flying  hair,  all  streaming  backward 
in  the  wind  of  her  flight,  for  she  was  bareheaded  as  she 
clung  to  the  reins  with  one  hand,  with  the  other  beating  the 
horse  with  her  sun-bonnet.  The  bullets  served  to  accelerate 
his  pace.  The  distance  from  the  pursuers  was  widening. 
She  came  over  the  hill  at  a  tremendous  rush,  and  saw,  to 
her  joy,  a  light  in  Jepson's  cabin. 

It  seemed  to  him  at  the  time  as  if  he  were  dreaming. 
He  heard  the  thud  of  hoofs ;  he  saw,  as  he  opened  the  door, 
the  equestrian  figure  reining  up  on  the  snow  ;  he  heard  Mar- 
cella's  voice  beseeching  him  to  fly,  fly  at  once,  for  his  ene 
mies  were  upon  his  track  ;  and  then,  straggling  over  the 
hill,  came,  one  by  one,  the  distanced  pursuers.  They  had 
lost  the  fugitive  long  ago,  but  they  noted,  as  she  had  done, 
the  light  in  the  cabin.  As  they  approached,  they  saw  Jep- 
son  advancing  to  meet  them,  —  advancing  boldly.  His 
figure  was  very  distinct  in  the  light  of  the  moon,  which  had 
shaken  off  its  besetting  clouds,  and  was  crystal-clear  in  the 
sky,  while  the  snowy  earth  responded  with  an  opaque  white 
lustre.  His  pose  suggested  all  his  arrogance.  His  arms 
were  folded  on  his  breast ;  his  head  was  held  very  erect. 

It  was  a  frenzied  impulse  which  animated  them,  for  they 
did  not  connect  him  in  any  sense  with  the  fugitive  on  the 
sheriff's  horse.  Perhaps  it  arose  from  the  lack  of  a  recog 
nized  head  of  the  expedition,  for  the  dismounted  officer  was 
still  far  behind  at  Strobe's  house.  They  were  wild,  fevered, 
riotous,  their  minds  still  full  of  the  suspicions  bruited  about 
the  hearth  this  evening.  Most  of  all,  it  may  be,  they  felt 
that  fierce,  chafing  wish  to  break  away  from  control  which 


486       THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE   COVE.  ~ 

they  had  shared  with  every  mob  turning  against  its  erst 
while  leader.  Jepson  did  not  realize  that  he  was  reenact- 
ing  the  history  of  many  a  despot,  when  a  sharp,  whizzing 
sound  split  the  night  air,  and  he  felt,  in  amazement,  a  keen 
tingle  in  his  folded  right  arm,  —  another,  striking  above 
the  elbow.  Their  aim  was  good  for  men  who  rode  at  full 
gallop. 

He  did  not  flee.  He  walked  on,  silent,  proud,  erect,  to 
ward  them.  They  were  upon  him  now,  the  smoking  horses 
snorting  and  curveting  as  they  closed  about  him,  the  earth 
seeming  to  shake  beneath  their  hoofs  ;  and  suddenly  this 
Caesar  of  the  Great  Smoky  Mountains  sank  down  in  the 
reddening  snow. 

No  one  knew  afterward  quite  accurately  who  fired  the 
shots.  There  were  many  mutual  criminations  and  recrimi 
nations  amongst  the  little  mob,  but  the  pistols  were  not  avail 
able  in  evidence  because  of  the  frequent  discharges  at  the 
fugitive  on  the  sheriff's  horse.  These  were  considered  justi 
fiable,  and  thus  the  responsibility  was  never  placed.  Mar- 
cella  was  much  reproved  for  her  unwomanly  interference  in 
matters  with  which  she  had  no  concern.  The  sheriff,  how 
ever,  declared  gallantly,  "  Ef  I  hed  known  't  war  you-uns, 
Marcelly,  I  'd  hev  loant  ye  my  horse  an'  welcome."  And 
more  than  one  of  the  pursuers  averred  that  it  was  frightful 
to  think  of  having  had  to  fire  off  pistols  at  "  leetle  Marcelly 
Strobe  by  mistake,  whilst  she  war  a-skitterin'  along  on  that 
wild-goose  chase  through  the  snow  on  the  sher'ff's  horse." 

Jepson  felt  that  it  was  a  forlorn  and  maimed  existence 
that  stretched  out  before  him  after  Dr.  Boyce  came  and 
took  off  his  arm.  Physical  prowess  was  a  sort  of  religion 
with  him,  and  he  could  not  call  to  mind  any  Biblical  worthy 
thus  afflicted.  It  was  well  that  he  had  so  much  pride  and 
so  much  courage,  or  he  might  have  been  more  white-faced 
and  cast  down  than  he  was,  one  afternoon,  when  Mrs.  Strobe 
and  Marcella  went  to  his  cabin  to  inquire  concerning  his 
well-being.  The  girl  persisted  in  sitting  on  the  doorstep, 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.       487 

for  the  door  stood  open,  the  snow  having  melted  and  the  air 
being  fine  and  dry,  and  from  his  chair  within,  by  the  fire 
side,  he  could  not  see  her  face,  —  only  the  lustrous  waves  of 
her  long  curling  hair  tossing  on  her  shoulders. 

When  Mrs.  Strobe,  interested  in  a  matter  of  horticulture, 
stepped  out  on  the  back  porch  to  cull  sundry  seed-pods  from 
a  vine  sheltered  by  the  eaves,  he  boldly  offered  his  advice 
on  a  point  on  which  he  considered  it  sorely  needed. 

"  Ye  mus'  quit  these  hyar  dangerous  ways,  Marcelly,"  he 
said,  in  his  domineering  tone.  "  Leave  the  men's  affairs 
alone.  Ye  '11  git  kilt  some  time.  Ye  mought  hev  been  kilt 
kemin'  ter  warn  me,  an*  't  war  powerful  dangerous  warnin* 
Rathburn." 

"  I  reckon  't  war  n't  none  too  much  ter  do  fur  a  man  I  'm 
goin'  ter  marry,"  she  retorted  tartly,  her  back  toward  him, 
her  elbow  on  her  knee,  her  chin  in  her  hand. 

He  had  grown  used  to  the  idea  that  she  would  marry 
Rathburn.  **  I  wish  he  war  a  better  man !  "  he  said  bit 
terly. 

"  He  ain't  got  no  religion,  sca'cely,  I  know,"  she  resumed 
presently,  "  but  he  don't  feel  no  lack." 

"  He  ain't  a  hypercrite,  then,  —  like  ye  called  me  wunst  ?  " 
he  said  desolately. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  declared  lightly,  "  jes'  about  yer  size  of  a 
hypercrite." 

"  Waal  —  I  hope  he  '11  be  good  ter  ye,"  he  sighed. 

"Dunno  'bout  that,  — he  gits  mad  mighty  easy,"  she  re 
sponded  cavalierly.  "  Tole  me  wunst  ez  he  would  never 
furgive  me  ez  long  ez  he  lived." 

"  Fur  what  ?  "  Jepson  demanded  angrily. 

She  had  risen  from  the  doorstep.  She  was  looking  casu 
ally  around,  as  if  she  were  about  to  go.  Her  voice  had  sunk 
unaccountably.  "  Jes'  kase  I  'lowed  it  mought  hev  been  him 
ez  treated  leetle  Bob  Bowles  mean." 

There  was  a  pause.  "  Marcelly,"  he  cried  at  last,  '*  who 
be  ye  a-talkin'  'bout  ?  " 


488   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

"  You-uns  !  "  She  turned  away  her  scarlet  cheek,  then 
flashed  a  bright  glance  over  her  shoulder.  "  But  I  'm  mos' 
wore  out  tryin'  ter  git  it  inter  yer  head,  — ye  'pear  so  sodden 
in  folly." 

And  then  she  was  off. 

Rathburn  had  bitter  reproaches  for  her.  "  I  thought  you 
would  marry  me  —  not  Jepson.  I  thought  you  cared  for 
me." 

"  I  never  knowed  my  mind,"  she  admitted,  "  till  that 
night  whenst  I  hearn  'em  plottin'  agin  him,  an'  seen  he  war 
in  danger.  Then  I  fund  out  mighty  quick  who  I  keered 
fur." 

"  I  believe  it  will  kill  me,"  he  declared. 

"  Oh,  no,  't  won't !  "  she  reassured  him.  "  I  hev  hearn 
fower  or  five  young  men  say  that  very  thing,  an  they  air 
walkin'  round  in  Brumsaidge  now,  well  an'  hearty,  an'  likely 
ter  last  a  good  while  yit" 

Mrs.  Strobe  was  not  surprised.  "  Whenst  young  gals 
gits  ter  talkin'  'bout  l  despisin'  handsome  sinners  with  eyes 
blue  an'  deep  ez  a  well,'  thar  's  apt  ter  be  a  heap  o'  foolish 
ness  in  the  wind."  She  earnestly  counseled  her  grand 
daughter  to  wait  until  after  an  investigation  of  the  cave  was 
had,  lest  Jepson  should  be  in  some  sort  inculpated  by  the 
testimony  which  the  dark  and  gruesome  caverns  might  yield 
at  last.  "  Ye  could  turn  him  off  then,"  she  argued,  "  ef  ye 
ain't  married  ter  him." 

Her  remonstrances  had  the  unexpected  effect  of  hasten 
ing  the  wedding.  "  I  don't  believe  he  hev  done  nuthin'  un 
derhand  an'  mean.  An'  I  'm  willin'  ter  share  ennythin' 
they  kin  prove  agin  him,"  Marcella  declared. 

The  first  superficial  investigation  of  those  unexplored  un 
derground  recesses  resulted  in  naught.  There  was  then 
some  delay  while  the  sheriff  secured  and  had  brought  from 
Colbury  the  requisite  means  for  an  extensive,  safe,  and  effi 
cient  search,  —  lamps,  ropes,  etc. ;  and  by  the  time  they  were 
in  readiness  Rathburn  was  sufficiently  recovered  to  be  with 


THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE.   489 

the  party.  He  was  in  high  hopes  of  realizing  his  dreams 
of  rich  deposits  of  ore,  and  eagerly  examined  the  rock 
about  the  opening  of  the  cave  and  within  its  passages.  The 
only  "  find  "  was  a  ghastly  spectacle.  Not  so  far  down  the 
gloomy  aisles  of  the  cave,  half  hidden  by  a  great  fragment 
of  rock,  and  by  it  supported  in  an  upright  posture,  was  the 
skeleton  of  a  young  man,  clad  in  tatters  and  shreds  of 
brown  jeans,  his  grasp  still  upon  the  handle  of  a  hunting- 
knife  held  out  straight  before  him,  kept  in  position  since  its 
strong  blade  had  pierced  the  heart  of  a  great  panther,  now 
but  a  skeleton  too,  rampant,  its  claws  and  fangs  fixed  in  the 
ribs  where  its  savagery  had  dealt  death.  It  was  the  sim 
plest  explanation  of  the  mystery:  the  antagonists  in  this 
primitive  duel  —  the  hunter  and  the  beast  —  had  each  per 
ished  because  of  the  other.  Keale  had  doubtless  tracked 
the  creature  to  the  cave,  rashly  ventured  within  her  den, 
and  she  had  fought  with  the  courage  of  desperation.  There 
were  the  skeletons  of  the  panther  kittens,  having  died  of 
starvation,  perhaps,  scattered  about  on  the  floor,  but  no  in 
dications  of  precious  metal,  no  sign  that  this  gaunt  thing 
that  once  was  the  adventurous  mountaineer  had  ever  sought 
it,  save  that  in  his  pocket  was  a  bit  of  float  identical  with 
the  specimen  which  had  so  long  proved  a  lure  to  Rathburn. 
The  secret  where  he  had  found  it  perished  with  him. 

Its  influences  were  hardly  so  fleeting.  Many  a  long  and 
thoughtful  hour  Rathburn  pondered  on  Baintree's  fate :  in 
nocent  of  the  crime  of  which  he  was  accused  ;  tempted  by 
his  cowardly  terror  of  it  to  commit  its  counterpart,  which 
thDugh  failing  had  left  him  its  legacy  of  remorse,  its  brand 
of  Cain  to  bear  as  long  as  he  should  live.  Never  again 
came  news  of  him  to  Broomsedge  Cove,  although  Rathburn, 
with  a  condoning  compassion,  a  certain  sense  of  responsibil 
ity,  remembering  his  own  sordid  schemes  and  their  pitiless 
pursuit,  which  provoked  Baintree's  crime,  and  a  wish  to  lift 
the  weight  which  must  oppress  him,  sought  him  far  and 
wide. 


4:90   THE  DESPOT  OF  BROOMSEDGE  COVE. 

Rathburn  lost  his  desire  for  wealth  ;  somehow  that  bit  of 
float,  with  all  its  unfulfilled  promises,  with  all  its  inchoate 
curses,  was  a  talisman  to  reconcile  him  to  poverty.  No  one 
might  know  in  alter  years,  when  he  was  notably  one  of  the 
"  poor  collectors  "  of  his  profession,  how  strong  a  proclivity 
for  gains  at  all  hazards  he  had  conquered.  He  never  became 
altogether  unworldly,  however,  and  when  he  had  returned 
to  his  appropriate  place  in  the  heart  of  a  city  he  was  easily 
consoled  for  Marcella's  choice,  and  esteemed  it  in  the  nature 
of  an  escape ;  for  none  could  realize  so  well  as  he  how  the 
charming  mountain  flower  would  have  lost  grace  and  beauty, 
all  its  fascinations  wilting,  in  the  transplantation  to  an  in 
congruous  sphere.  Nevertheless  he  suffers  a  pang  occasion 
ally  —  the  finer  aesthetic  function  of  the  heart  —  when  he 
hears  from  Broomsedge  Cove.  Latterly  it  has  been  reported 
that  Eli  Strobe,  whose  mental  malady  has  quite  disappeared, 
has  been  elected  justice  of  the  peace,  and  that  the  **  dad  " 
formerly  so  frequent  a  word  on  Marcella's  lips  has  become 
a  stranger  to  her  vocabulary ;  for  ever  since  she  has  sol 
emnly  spoken  of  him  by  the  ambitious  title  of  his  office,  as 
"  the  squair."  Even  while  Rathburn  laughed  at  this,  he 
saw,  with  the  vividness  of  reality,  and  a  yearning  pain  like 
homesickness,  the  stretches  of  the  tawny  broomsedge  wav 
ing  over  all  the  abandoned  land ;  the  high  encircling  purple 
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age  to  the  passing  of  the  royal  wind;  the  river's  silver 
gleam  ;  the  smoke  curling  up  from  the  stick-and-clay  chim 
neys  of  the  little  hamlet,  so  still,  so  still,  while  above  the 
white  clouds  set  sail. 


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The  set,  3  vols.  i6mo 3.75 

Mrs.  M.  O.  W.  Oliphant  and  T.  B.  Aldrich. 

The  Second  Son.     Crown  Svo 1.50 

Elizabeth  Stuart  Phelps. 


The  Gates  Ajar.     i6mo   .... 

Beyond  the  Gates.     i6mo     .     .    . 
The  Gates  lietween.     i6mo      .     . 
Men,  Women,  and  Ghosts.     i6mo 
Hedged  In.     161110  ...... 

The  Silent  Partner.     161110  . 


The  Story  of  Avis.     161110 

Sealed  Orders,  and  Other  Stories.     i6mo  .... 

Friends  :  A  Duet.     i6mo 

Doctor  Zay.     161110  

An  Old  Maid's  Paradise,  and  Burglars  in  Paradise 
Madonna  of  the  Tubs      Illustrated.     I2mo    ....     1.50 
Jack  the  Fisherman.     Illustrated.     Square  I2mo  .    .      .50 


•50 
25 
25 

•5° 
.50 

•5° 

•5° 
•50 
•25 
•25 
25 


io  Works  of  Fiction  Pub dished  by 

Marian  C.  L.  Reeves  and  Emily  Read. 

Pilot  Fortune.     i6mo $1.25 

J.  P.  Quincy. 

The  Peckster  Professorship.     i6mo 1.25 

Josiah  Royce. 

The  Feud  of  Oakfiekl  Creek.     i6mo 1.25 

Joseph  Xavier  Boniface  Saintine. 

Picciola.     Illustrated.    i6mo I.oo 

Jacques  Henri  Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre. 

Paul  and  Virginia.     Illustrated.     i6mo I.oo 

The  Same,  together  with  Undine,  and  Sintram.  321110      .75 

Sir  Walter  Scott. 

The  Waverley  Novels.  Illustrated  Library  Edition. 
Illustrated  with  100  engravings  by  Darley,  Dielman, 
Fredericks,  Low,  Share,  Sheppard.  With  glossary 
and  a  full  index  of  characters.  In  25  volumes,  12 mo. 

Waverley-  The  Antiquary. 

Guy  Mannering.  Rob  Roy. 

Old  Mortality.  St.  Ronan's  Well. 

Black  Dwarf,  and  Legend      Redgaumlet. 

of  Montrose.  The   Betrothed,  and  The 

Heart  of  Mid-Lothian.  Highland  Widow. 

Bride  of  Lammermoor.  The  Talisman,  and  Other 

Ivanhoe.  Tales. 

The  Monastery.  Woodstock. 

The  Abbot.  The  Fair  Maid  of  Perth. 

Kenilworth.  Anne  of  Geierstein. 

The  Pirate.  Count  Robert  of  Paris. 

The  Fortunes  of  Nigel.  The  Surgeon's  Daughter, 

Peveril  of  the  Peak.  and  Castle  Dangerous. 

Quentin  Durward. 

Each  volume I.oo 

The  set 25-00 

Tales  of  a  Grandfather.     Illustrated  Library  Edition. 

With  six  steel  plates.     In  three  volumes,  I2rno  .     .     4.50 

Horace  E.  Scudder. 

The  Dwellers  in  Five-Sisters'  Court.     i6mo  ....  1.25 

Stories  and  Romances.     i6mo 1.25 

The  Children's  Book.    Edited  by  Mr.  Scudder.    Small 

410 2.50 

Mark  Sibiey  Severance. 

Hammersraith :  His  Harvard  Days.     I2mo  ....     1.50 


Houghton,  Mifflin  and  Company.          n 
J.  E.  Smith. 

Oakridge  :  An  Old-Time  Story  of  Maine.     I2mo   .    .  $2.00 
Mary  A.  Sprague. 

An  Earnest  Trifler.     i6mo 1.25 

William  W.  Story. 

Fiammetta.     i6mo 1.25 

Harriet  Beecher  Stowe. 

Agnes  of  Sorrento.     i2mo 1.50 

The  Pearl  of  On 's  Island.     I2mo 1.50 

Uncle  Tom's  Cabin.     Illustrated  Edition.     I2mo  .     .  2.00 

The  Ministers  Wooing.     I2mo .     .  1.50 

The  Mayflower,  and  Other  Sketches.     I2mo       .     .     .  I  50 

Dred.     New  Edition,  from  new  plates.     I2mo   .     .     .  1.50 

Oldtown  Folks.     I2mo 1.50 

Sam  Lawson's  Fireside  Stories.     I2mo 1.50 

My  Wife  and  I.     Illustrated.     I2mo 1.50 

We  and  Our  Neighbors.     Illustrated.     I2mo      .     .     .  1.50 

Poganuc  People.     Illustrated.     I2mo 1.50 

The  above  eleven  volumes,  in  box 16.00 

Uncle  Tom's  Cabin.     Holiday  Edition.     With  Intro 
duction,  and  Bibliography  by  George  Bullen,  of  the 

British  Museum.     Over  100  Illustrations.     I2mo     .  3  oo 

The  Same.     Popular  Edition.     121110 i.oo 

Octave  Thanet. 

*•  Knitters  in  the  Sun.     i6mo 1.25 

Gen.  Lew  Wallace. 

The  Fair  God  ;  or,  The  Last  of  the  'Tzins.     I2mo  .     1.50 

Henry  Watterson. 

Oddities  in  Southern  Life.     Illustrated.     i6mo  .     .     .     1.50 

Richard  Grant  White. 

The  Fate  of  Mansfield  Humphreys,  with  the  Episode 

of  Mr.  Washington  Adams  in  England.     i6mo   .     .     1.25 

Adeline  D.  T.  Whitney. 

Faith  Gartney's  Girlhood.     Illustrated.     I2mo  .    .     .     1.50 

T  T  :  *.  U  ~  -  .        A       C*  *. .     _f     \7 «. 1 


Hitherto:  A  Story  of  Yesterdays.     I2mo 

Patience  Strong's  Outings.     I2mo 

The  Gayworthys.     izmo 

Leslie  Goldthwaite.  Illustrated.  I2mo  .  .  . 
We  Girls  :  A  Home  Story.  Illustrated.  I2mo 
Real  Folks.  Illustrated.  I2mo  . 


12  Works  of  Fiction. 

The  Other  Girls.     Illustrated.     I2mo $1.50 

Sights  and  Insights.     2  vols.  I2mo 3.00 

Odd,  or  Even  ?     i2mo 1.50 

Boys  at  Chequasset.     Illustrated.     I2mo 1.50 

Bonnyborough.     i2mo 1.50 

Homespun  Yarns.     Short  Stones.     I2mo      ....  1.50 

Justin  Winsor. 

Was  Shakespeare  Shapleigh  ?  A  Correspondence  in 
Two  Entanglements.  Edited  by  Justin  Winsor. 
Parchment- pa  per,  i6mo 75 

Lillie  Chace  Wyman. 

Poverty  Grass.     161110 1.25 


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